Greenhorn V2
by acceptmyusernamealready
Summary: The old sailor's adage puts it this way: treat your ship well, and she'll take care of you. Of course, everyone knows they're just referring to basic reactor maintenance, equipment checks, and keeping the fuel injectors clear. Everyone knows that thinking the ship is actually alive is crazy. Right? Well, a certain Charon-class frigate and friends have something to say about that.
1. Chapter 1

A space battle, Captain Douglas Garcia mused, never could decide what it wanted to be. Either too far away, with nuclear fireballs reduced to flickers of light, or so close in your face that even AIs struggled to keep up with missiles coming in thick as white on rice. If there was a middle ground he must have blinked and missed it, especially now as _Scorpia_ lashed out at an incoming wave of Abyssal missiles.

"Point defense guns eight through twenty depleted. Reload ten seconds." Her squadron-mates reduced to scattered wreckage, _Scorpia_ alone faced down a wave of missiles meant for five. Five destroyers together had point defenses to be reckoned with; one destroyer, shields depleted and desperately retreating to the main battle line, did not. Her own missiles replied, flaying a pursuing Abyssal destroyer and forcing the other two on her tail to turn away, but it was cold comfort in the face of the approaching cloud of steel.

"Five - four missiles projected to impact, port forward quarter." _Scorpia_ 's defensive pulse laser arrays scored one last kill. It required the combined fire of four arrays to overcome the energy-scattering of the Abyssal material - another reason the kinetic weapons' reload cycle couldn't have been more badly timed.

"Initiate full starboard roll, bow down twenty starboard fifty. All hands, brace for impact." Garcia gripped his armrests tight and leaned back as his destroyer turned and accelerated away from the incoming missiles. He grunted as a few gs bled through the inertial dampers. A small timer counted down the seconds to impact: five, four, three, two, one-

 _Scorpia_ shook and groaned from the hits. "Hull breach, venting stern port and starboard quarters! Fire, decks five and six!"

"Vent burning compartments, damage control parties to affected sectors. Divert capacity from bow to stern shielding."

"Understood, increasing shielding astern!"

A harsh metallic buzzer sounded. "MAC, reloaded!"

" _Priority comm, Admiral Williams designates RU-22 as priority target._ " Verdant, _Scorpia_ 's AI, highlighted the target in question on the main display, a single dot at the forefront of a sea of red that outnumbered UNSC fleet interposed between it and the burning planet of Roseport three to one. " _Your orders, sir?_ "

Garcia glanced at the incoming reports. The Abyssals on _Scorpia's_ tail had fallen back in search of easier prey and no other immediate threats presented themselves, though in between the waves of missiles being exchanged it was hard to tell who was or wasn't targeting _Scorpia_. The destroyer's angle and position might also let it slip in a cheap shot on the battleship's unguarded side. "Slave our FC to the battlenet, prepare for evasive maneuvers."

" _Yes sir._ " _Scorpia_ 's main propulsion went dark as maneuvering thrusters fired to swing her two MACs towards a distant Abyssal battleship. " _Coordinating with fleet fire control… adjusting for fire control dispersion factor… locked._ " The hull shuddered as both cannons discharged their 800-ton rounds. The battleship began maneuvering as soon as it detected the inbound salvo, but the combined power of the fleet's fire control systems had already overcome its sensor jamming and accounted for its most likely course changes. Half a fleet's worth of main battery rounds bracketed and slammed into the enemy vessel, whose shields took twelve direct hits - enough to annihilate a sizable asteroid - on the chin and shrugged them off. The armor absorbed eight more, but the next round found something vital and the ship broke in two. " _Target destroyed._ "

A whoop went up on the bridge as the battleship disappeared from the display. "Nice shot!" Garcia exclaimed, allowing himself a small fist pump. With the priority target destroyed, individual ships and divisions resumed dueling their Abyssal counterparts, jousting with MACs and energy projectors. He dialed the propulsion back up and set the ship back on its previous course, then pressed the PA button. "All hands-"

A sensor officer shouted in alarm. "New contacts! Fighters, four zero zero klicks!" Angry red dots popped onto the display, Abyssal aerospace craft dropping their stealth as they ignited their engines and burned hard into wide turns. "They're turning-missiles spotted! Countermeasures active, jamming at full power!"

Verdant cursed, a shade of anger clouding her calm voice. " _Clever sonuvabitch. Sneak up while I'm looking the other way._ "

"Focus, Verdant! Bow up sixty port eighty, war emergency power!" _Scorpia_ 's PDCs and laser arrays lit up the sudden volley of missiles bearing down on her unguarded starboard broadside. The remaining secondary turrets joined in as well, taking potshots at the fleeing fighters. Streams of tungsten arced through space, slashing through the missile formation, hitting one or two but mostly going wide. Garcia could only imagine the hell the aiming mechanisms were going through, jittering multi-ton turrets back and forth as the fire control systems struggled to agree on velocity, position, and angle.

Just when things couldn't get worse, the sensor officer spoke again with the tone of dead man. "Nuclear signatures detected."

" _That's not a hit we can afford to take,_ " Verdant whispered. " _Permission to take over maneuvers?_ "

"Granted. All hands, brace for high-g maneuvers! Repeat, brace, brace, brace!" Garcia slapped the high-g alarm. The bridge crew leaned back into their crash couches, wincing as needles poked their skin and injected the drugs that would keep them conscious. As shrill alarms blared, sailors throughout the ship secured equipment before they raced for their own couches, or strapped themselves to padded walls with elastic webbing designed for such situations. Taking one last full breath, Garcia muttered, "This is the part I _hate!_ "

That last part came out as a grunt as maneuvering thrusters fired all along the hull. _Scorpia_ 's hull, screaming under dangerous levels of structural stress, twisting through space under Verdant's superhumanly steady hand, swinging and jolting back and forth to snake through the missile cloud. One missile made it through and hit the dorsal armor belt, searing away the ablative coating and ripping a large section of plate off of its mountings. It also scorched the structural plating underneath, but the spaced armor absorbed most of the damage, and the crew barely felt the impact through the g forces leaking through the inertial dampers. Another strayed too near the main propulsion and came out the other side a melted, harmless wreck. One more struck a piece of damaged armor plate ripped off by the violent maneuvers and exploded four hundred meters to port, turning gunmetal grey into charcoal black. Despite the drugs in his system Garcia felt something in his right eye pop. Blood began trickling down his cheek a moment later. "Verdant!" he gasped, "shoot those damned things down!"

" _I'm trying, sir. It's not quite that simple-._ " Verdant cut herself off with a surprised noise. Fifty kilometers off _Scorpia_ 's aft port quarter a slipspace portal tore open the inky blackness. Clawing back into reality like a kraken breaching the ocean surface, an Autumn-class heavy cruiser and her escorting destroyers slid out of the rip in space-time, just in time to body-block three missiles with her fresh, powerful shields. The point defenses of the ships then combined to shoot down the rest and maul the fleeing fighters, with most of the kills going to the cruiser's much more capable suite.

The elephant on Garcia's chest disappeared as Verdant ceased her wild maneuvering. He shot straight up, gasping for breath, and hurriedly wiped the blood from his face. Palpable relief and a cheer flooded the bridge as _Scorpia_ 's shields finally began to rebuild and she reduced thrust, much to the relief of Garcia's good eye. "Get me a damage report," he ground out against the pain.

"Heavy damage to the dorsal armor belt. Medical reports multiple burn, shrapnel, radiation, and vacuum injuries." The officer turned around with a grim expression, sporting a black eye and bloody nose. "One of our primary shield capacitors was destroyed along with multiple PDCs and a secondary turret. The MAC loading equipment is also damaged." He hesitated, then went on, "Any attempt to fire could result in power failure."

Garcia's good mood vanished like fog in sunlight. "Lovely." Out of the corner of his good eye, he noticed an incoming comm request from the cruiser. "Steady on this course. Get repairs started on the MAC." With one hand over his bad eye, Garcia accepted the request. "This is _Scorpia_ , thanks for the assist. I owe you one, uh..."

" _Captain Khalid, and you're welcome_ Scorpia." The damaged sensors finally ID'd the cruiser, now burning to match course with _Scorpia_ , as the _Hope Springs Eternal_. " _Compliments of Admiral Williams. Looks like he sent us just in time._ "

"Much appreciated." Garcia couldn't help but let a sour note slip into his voice. "Cut it a hair too close for my liking."

Khalid dipped his head. " _Fair. Our bad - had to take care of some business first._ " That business had left its mark, in the form of plasma scars, craters and ragged holes along the cruiser's broad flanks. He paused, then continued hesitantly. " _Are your comms down? We've been trying to contact you._ "

"What?" With a growing sense of weariness, Garcia pointed at the comms officer. "Status on our comms."

"Yes sir…" The officer pressed a few keys on her console. A few moments passed, then her shoulders visibly sagged. "Long range communications array has been heavily damaged," she said, in a long-suffering voice.

" _In general, nukes and communications don't mix well,_ " Verdant supplied. " _I'll tell damage control to get on it._ " Garcia waved the AI off with a mental flick, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a growing headache and desire to drink. Yet another few days his ship would be laid up in the Reach orbital docks. _Assuming we make it back at all._

"Uh, that's a yes, _Eternal._ Our LR comms are fried until further notice."

" _Roger that. Link your short range to our array, we'll relay your messages._ " Khalid paused to take a message from one of the other destroyers, then continued, " _The last civilian evacuation ship just formed up with BattDiv Two. Our remaining ground forces need evacuation ASAP. Admiral Williams is ordering all ships to form a battle line over the landing zones to screen the extraction._ " A data packet containing maneuvering orders arrived over the comm. Garcia gestured for Verdant to unpack and apply it. " _Your slipspace drive isn't damaged, is it?_ "

"No, thank God."

" _Good._ " Khalid sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He appeared haggard and gaunt, illuminated in red battle lighting. Garcia could make out damage behind him, including where a railgun round seemed to have penetrated through and through the compartment. " _We estimate less than two hours before the ground forces are overrun. Once that happens…_ "

"Roger that. Our shields are back up, we'll follow your lead." Garcia signalled to the flight officer. "Prepare for ground transport ops."

"Yes, sir. Flight deck, stand by for ground ops."

Khalid nodded. " _Good to hear. Lock onto our nav beacon so you can piggyback into our portal._ "

"Roger that. _Scorpia_ out." Garcia cut the connection, then looked back at the display. "Verdant, give me the quickest low orbit insertion burn you've got. We're not staying here a moment longer than we have to."

" _Affirmative, sir._ "

"Also, one more thing. Please don't blow my other eye."

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Garcia thought he saw Verdant's holographic lips twitch into a smile. " _No promises, sir._ "

* * *

Shrapnel struck a Pelican in its port engine as it maneuvered amidst Abyssal AA fire. Smoke began seeping from the dropship, but its pilot managed to hold it steady while the extinguishers took care of the fire. A Rapier fighter circled protectively as it clawed for altitude, a cargo of worn and weary marines cradled in its belly.

Mud and debris showered on Sergeant Julie Armandez as another volley of artillery fire smashed into Alpha Base. She crawled along bottom of a muddy trench, doggedly making her way forwards through the hell raining down around her, what remained of her platoon behind her. Some marines returned fire with the remaining howitzers and mortars, but counter-battery fire silenced those guns one by one. She crawled by a gun pit containing the smoldering wreckage of one of the guns, along with the shrapnel-riddled bodies of four marines.

"Great idea, evacuating in the middle of an artillery duel," growled Corporal James Laughley, crawling beside her. "'Oh, I had no idea this was going to make us the biggest, fattest target on this entire goddamn plan-"

Laughley sputtered and choked as an empty ammunition box landed in the trench, and splashed muddy water in his face. Satisfied that her second-in-command had shut up, Armandez forged onwards. Small groups of marines huddled along the sides of the trench, waiting their turn to sprint across no-man's-land to landing dropships. Some threw smoke grenades, keeping the LZs carpeted with a constant dense cloud of multi-colored fumes. Others, in defiance, fired small arms and light AA guns at Abyssal aircraft flying back and forth overhead. A rocket team scored a lucky hit and an Abyssal fighter burst into flames as another wave of Pelicans and their escorts broke through the clouds.

"Eight birds incoming! Stand ready!" An officer with his arm in a sling and a whistle in hand stood by a set of ladders propped up against the trench. Several groups of marines made their way towards him, and Armandez made sure her unit was among them. He looked up at her approach and nodded. "Sergeant," he said with a grim nod, "flight plan looks a little turbulent today."

"Captain Mayfield! Still alive, then?"

"Well, someone had to stay behind and make sure you monkeys didn't jump the queue." Mayfield effected an exaggerated shrug. "I drew the short lot, so here I am, zookeeper. You're assigned to Zone Two."

"Crazy bastard volunteered, didn't he?" muttered Laughley, shifting from toe to toe trying to keep track of the dropships. "Thirsty for that DSC."

Mayfield pretended not to hear, instead peeking his head up above the parapet heedless of the ongoing bombardment. The remaining artillery crews drew on reserves of strength to increase their rate of fire, and seemed to suppress the incoming fire just a little. The officer hardly blinked when a piece of hot metal that caused Laughley and Armandez to duck whizzed inches from his cheek and only bent down when one took his helmet clean off. He picked it up and examined the ragged hole punched through the brim, then dusted it off and fixed it back upon his head, hole on prominent display. "Well?" he barked as several marines stared at him, "Carry on! Those Pelicans will be here in a hot minute, and they aren't waiting for you!"

"Barking mad," Laughley said, and Armandez nodded in agreement. They turned their gazes back towards the approaching dropships, just in time to see a squadron of Abyssal fighters force their way through the escorting drones and strafe the formation. One Pelican veered away, hull aflame and control surfaces shot to pieces, and crashed into the ruined city below. "Fucking dammit, come on, come on!" The rest of the dropships broke formation and took evasive maneuvers, their CAP circling protectively around them. "Come on flyboys, steady now…"

"Get more smoke on the LZs, fire chaff and flares on my order!" Mayfield barked. He stood on a firing step to gain a better vantage point, and Armandez caught him licking bone-dry lips. "Now!"

Mortars fired with a series of pops to scatter canisters of chaff and brilliant flares into the air around the LZs. The CAP broke off to engage inbound fighters, leaving the inbound craft to thread their way through the city at almost ground level. One shook when an Abyssal cannon round pierced through its starboard wing but managed to settle into its final approach. At the very last second, when it seemed they would overshoot the base entirely, the dropships turned around and burned hard, slowing to a near stop within seconds. They touched down inside the protective embrace of the smoke clouds and dropped their ramps, dimly lit interiors beckoning to waiting marines.

"Go, go, go!" shouted Armandez as Mayfield blew hard on his whistle. She clambered up the ladder and stood on the parapet, helping her marines to scramble up and waving them on towards the Pelican hovering in LZ Two. A shell burst nearby, spraying another group with shrapnel. Several marines fell, and their comrades picked them up without missing a beat and piled into a waiting dropship. Armandez waited until the last marine went up the ladder, looked back once - Mayfield, crazy bastard, was still standing straight up, waving marines on and getting the next groups ready- then dashed across no-man's-land. Something tugged at her calf as she went, but she paid it no mind. Tripping over the threshold, she landed in the dropship's bay in an untidy heap.

"Your leg's bleeding!" someone said as a few sets of hands helped her up. The pain was white hot, but a quick touch told her it was only a flesh wound with nothing embedded.

"Never mind that, get us outta here!"

"Roger that-"

Laughley cried out in alarm. "Wait!" He pointed out the still open ramp. "Abbies in the perimeter!" A section of the beleaguered perimeter wall disappeared in a flash and bang of demolition charges. The first Abyssals through were cut down by machine gun fire, but more quickly replaced them, accompanied by tanks forcing their way through the narrow openings. At least the artillery seemed to have stopped, Armandez noticed, even as marines and Abyssals began trading small arms fire.

"Shit!" The Pelican shuddered as its nose mounted cannon went to work, spraying 40 millimeter SAP rounds into the Abyssal ranks. It helped, but its effectiveness dropped as the Abyssals began fanning out into cover and focused fire on the transports. "LZ's too hot, we're taking off!" the pilot shouted, bullets flattening themselves against the hull armor. The engines spooled up with a whine and Armandez felt acceleration begin to push her into her seat.

"No, dammit!" Laughley pushed his way towards the bay door dual-mount machine guns. He grabbed the triggers and played the guns like a hose, painting the air with tracers and forcing the incoming fire to slacken. "Come on, get in, get in!" Two other Pelicans joined in, and a dozen or so marines decided to take their chances and broke cover. Dodging and weaving beneath a blanket of covering fire, they miraculously made it unscathed, crawling beneath rattling brass ejectors into the Pelican bays.

An alarm sounded from the cockpit, followed by an angry shout from the pilot. "We're going to overload, we leave _now_!" Armandez and another marine lunged forward to drag Laughley off the guns. Pinning his shoulders to the wall while the other marine strapped him into a seat, she spared one more glance out the closing ramp. Pistol in hand, Mayfield rallied the remaining troops to himself, standing tall while directing their fire to cover the escape of the dropships. He managed to catch Armandez's eye, gave her a grim nod and smile, then caught a round through his chest. Her last glimpse of him was of black, corrupted blood streaming from the wound and his mouth as he gunned down the offending Abyssal with his pistol, yelling something she couldn't hear.

"Buckle up! _Scorpia_ FLIGHTCON, Echo Three Eight, I'm RTB and requesting a flight path." Unsecured marines went tumbling as the Pelican accelerated, going nearly vertical in a bid for altitude. Armandez grabbed hold of an overhead handle and caught a marine falling past her. They hung together from the single, creaking handle until Armandez managed to swing them both into seats. Other marines weren't so lucky, crashing into walls, seats, each other and the rear ramp. The Pelican wobbled with the sudden, random changes in its center of gravity, and for a moment seemed the pilot would lose control. It thankfully straightened out, then immediately shook again when something hit the port side and opened a gash in the hull through which Armandez could see clouds streaming by. She yelled for a patch kit while the pilot went evasive.

A few marines forced the patch onto the hull just as the internal pressure began dropping while the others struggled back into their seats. The dim lighting and cramped compartment seemed to press in on Armandez. With no viewports, she could only judge the situation by the rattling of flak off the Pelican's armor and the number of times sudden turns and decelerations gave her whiplash.

"Yea, though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil…" Someone prayed, quite loudly, despite the forces of acceleration and gravity still crushing them towards the rear of the dropship. A muffled curse sounded from the cockpit right before a burst of ten millimeter rounds sawed through the cargo bay with a characteristic whine, perforating the Pelican's dorsal and belly armor. Automatic sealant systems quickly patched the small holes, along with the ones created when a trailing missile burst in a cloud of chaff. Laughley broke off his cursing with a hiss and his face turned stark white. His right hand flew to his neck, trickling blood from shrapnel cuts, and he resumed his cursing with even greater ferocity.

Armandez reached over to help, but before she could do anything her body was thrown forwards against the restraints. A sudden engine cut off left the cargo bay in free fall, causing marines to float for a brief moment before the pilot pushed the throttle forward once more and slammed everyone back into their seats. A dull pain throbbed in her rear, though it was nothing compared to how tight her cheeks were clenched. "Got fighters on our six, hang tight!" The pilot piped up over the intercom before the Pelican snapped into a corkscrew that pressed them to the walls.

"Shiiiii-"

Several marines reached their limit and vomit dispersed through the compartment. Armandez scarcely noticed, even when a near-miss missile shook the entire dropship. Her seat transmitted the violent vibrations caused by the engines being pushed to the red line and beyond as the Pelican gave all it had and more to break contact. The hull shook some more as the pilot fired the remaining chaff, flares, and a few ANVIL missiles. She heard a faint cheer from the cockpit which she took to mean one had scored a hit.

"We need - goddamn fighters!" Laughley gasped. "Where's the damned - CAP!"

The lack of support was made painfully apparent when an explosion almost threw Armandez from her restraints. Four marines slumped over in their seats, blood running freely from the backs of their heads. Through a hole in the wall, she could see flames trailing from the port engine and half of the wing, the other half blown away. Forget aerodynamics, the Pelican was flying on pure thrust.

"Get a patch on that!" Armandez ordered, knowing that no one could respond. The automatic sealants kicked in, slowly filling the holes, but it was like trying to plug Swiss cheese. For every hole they filled in another one appeared, and the Abyssals' aim was getting better. Laughley quietly swore once more time and fell silent, breathing heavily. Armandez closed her eyes and tried to resign herself. _Maybe if I relax, it'll go quicker._ She paced her breaths to calm herself, wanting to set a good example in her last moments. _In, out, in, out, in, out-_

" _Echo Three Eight, this is Scorpia Flight, inbound three o'clock high. Check your fire._ " Armandez's eyes shot open and she quickly tapped into a newly established tacnet. A wing of Rapier fighters fell out of the sun's glare, diving in perfect sync. The Abyssal fighters were too focused on the Pelican to notice the fighters swooping down upon them until it was far too late. The Rapiers swept through the alien formation, shields flashing with deflected return fire. Missiles leapt from their pods and rotary cannons screamed, downing half the Abyssal fighters in one pass.

The remaining Abyssals broke off the pursuit and their formation as the Rapiers pulled up for their second pass. They reassembled to face the human fighters head on, bringing their powerful frontal shields to bear. In response, the Rapiers split off into two groups, one going high and one going low to force the Abyssals to expose their weak points to at least one angle of fire. Their cannons roared once more, but their aim was thrown off by a sudden burst of acceleration from the aliens. The Rapiers overshot and the Abyssals capitalized on their mistake, volleying missiles into the disorganized formation and downing three fighters.

A general groan rose from the Pelican's passengers. Armandez gave in to the urge to swear. "Come on, flyboys, get it together dammit!" Laughley nodded in agreement, while carefully holding a cloth to his neck. "What the hell are you paid for?!"

As if responding to her comments, the Rapiers lit their afterburners and screamed after the Abyssals. The alien fighters attempted to get behind them with a wide vertical loop, but the Rapiers read the maneuver and intercepted them halfway through the turn, cutting perpendicularly across the Abyssals' flight path. A flash of cannon fire later, the tacnet registered free of hostiles.

The radio crackled. " _Apologies for the wait, had to fight our way down to you. Get inside of our formation, we'll get you to_ Scorpia _safe._ " Waggling their wings in victory, the Rapiers formed up alongside the Pelican, shepherding it through the thinning atmosphere and into the cold embrace of space. As gravity disappeared from beneath her, Armandez had to coach her heart into restarting. The whole ordeal had probably shaved years off her life, but the relief of finally getting to orbit and having an escort made it all seem not so bad. "We made it," she sighed, sagging into her restraints.

Laughley gave her a strained grin in return as he started clumsily wrapping a bandage and gauze around his neck. Acceleration returned, gentler this time, as the pilot nudged the Pelican onto a low-profile burn. Chatter broke out among the marines, happy they had somehow survived, but subdued by the knowledge that not everyone had made it. A few of them took advantage of the calm to check on their incapacitated comrades, but the slump of their shoulders told the story.

Armandez let out a heavy breath, then clapped Laughley on the back. "Alright, man?" She took the bandages and tied them off behind his neck. "That looks nasty."

"I been better, sarge," he said. "Been worse too." He glanced over at the four dead marines, and the numerous injuries that adorned the rest. "Could be a lot worse."

"Always could be." She patted his shoulder one more time, then sat back as exhaustion finally hit her. The Pelican bay gradually silent as the dropship flew onwards, guarded by the Rapier flight. Besides taking care of each other's wounds, nobody felt much like speaking. It seemed that to do so would break the solemnity of the moment, especially as they drew close enough to the fleet to connect to the battlenet. Caught up in the meatgrinder of the surface, Armandez hadn't paid much attention to the space battle, but viewing the battlenet she now realized the enormity of the losses the fleet had suffered. With over half its ships destroyed or disabled and most of the rest damaged, the fleet was a mere shadow of its former self. The losses the marines suffered seemed almost trivial in comparison.

"Hey sarge?" Laughley spoke so quietly that Armandez almost she was hearing things, especially in comparison with his earlier cursing. "You think… the guys we left behind…"

"..." Armandez stared at her boots. "... they let us escape. Remember that; don't let it go to waste."

"Yeah… but I-"

"Fuck right off with that thinking." She turned to look him in the eyes. "What do you think the Captain would say if you kept beating yourself up like that?"

"..." Laughley cracked a half-hearted smile. "He'd call me an idiot and tell me to get back on the firing line."

"Exactly." She paused as the pilot announced their imminent landing on _Scorpia_. "So chin up, and make yourself presentable. I'm not having you embarrass us in front of the whole ship."

Laughley hastily brushed off his uniform and patted down his hair as the pilot guided the Pelican into the embrace of _Scorpia_ 's hangar shields. A gentle deceleration pushed the marines into their chairs before they touched down with a thud onto an empty landing pad. The ramp unlocked, allowing atmosphere to flood in with a hiss. Armandez stood up as soon as the restraints were off, helping Laughley out and shouting for a corpsman. A medical team ran over and she handed off her wounded men to them to take to the nearest infirmary.

"Sergeant, we should check that leg out," said a corpsman, noticing the shrapnel wound on her leg. "That looks nasty."

"Right, just a moment." Armandez turned around to look back at the scorched and beaten Pelican, then out of the hangar bay shields. The battlenet gave her an overall impression of the situation, but she felt the need to see it with her own eyes. Not that there was much to see; only the occasional flash and fireball betrayed the positions of ships in the inky blackness of space. "How are casualties?"

The corpsman grimaced. "Not good. We've taken a beating. We can hold out for a little longer, but if we can't get out of here soon…"

"Right." She took one last look, then shook her head. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?" She motioned for the corpsman to lead her to an infirmary. "Get me fixed up and put on a repair party. Whatever I can do to help, so I can get out of this hellhole."

He huffed in amusement. "I don't think anyone would fault you for that. This way, sir."

* * *

"Ground ops complete, all evac ships have docked."

"Incoming missiles. Engaging point defenses."

"Shields steady at fifty percent, cannot rebuild further."

"Seal the hangars, cease flight ops. Coordinate our defenses with the overall battlenet through _Eternal_." Garcia ground his teeth at the shield readouts. "Inform damage control that fifty percent is unacceptable, give me at least seventy or God help me I'll come down there and fix them myself!"

" _Unadvisable, Captain._ " Verdant commented from the sidelines, avatar's face slightly strained as she duelled Abyssal intrusion attempts. " _Fine naval officer you may be, you wouldn't know an energy director from a power feed._ "

"Not helping, Verdant." A flash of light from the display caught Garcia's attention. Without fanfare or so much as a distress call, the cruiser _Masquerade_ caught no less than five energy projectors straight through her length. Fire spewed from her disintegrating hull as her atmosphere ignited and her escorting destroyers scattered, and sensors registered only a few escape pods before she went up in a horrendous, beautiful, and completely silent explosion. Morbidly entranced, Garcia almost failed to notice the proximity alarm warning of incoming rounds. "Get those goddamned shields up! Bow port thirty degrees, angle against incoming fire."

A pair of mass driver rounds flattened themselves against _Scorpia_ 's armor belt. The plating buckled and warped and the hull bulged inwards but held even as the ship shuddered violently under the impact. " _Minor damage, all systems operational_ ," Verdant reported.

"Weapons status?"

" _All loaded, ready to fire._ "

"Fire staggered volley on my mark… mark!"

With a howl of fury, _Scorpia_ spat her reply into the void, as did every other ship in the fleet. Missiles spewed from their pods while laser arrays and plasma lances pumped shot after shot across tens of thousands of kilometers of space. Abyssal point defenses lashed out at this wave of fire but were unable to prevent it from crashing against their shields and hulls in a tsunami of violence. Ships charged their main batteries as the barrage subsided, and the massive energies being gathered seemed to make time slow down on _Scorpia_ 's bridge. A moment passed, and three hundred ships fired MACs and energy projectors as one in a display that sent shivers down Garcia's spine. He unconsciously leaned backwards from the sheer force of the discharge and as _Scorpia_ screamed her own rage at the Abyssals. Uncountable needle-thin beams of raw plasma outpaced the six hundred slugs that flashed towards Abyssal ships at .2 light speed. They raced past frigates and corvettes savagely knife-fighting in the no-man's-space between the two fleets, mauling each other like rabid dogs in an alleyway brawl in an attempt to employ their deadly torpedo batteries against the enemy's capital ships. The Abyssals, still partially blinded by the radiation storm unleashed by hundreds of nuclear detonations, regained sensor vision just in time for the energy projectors to strike, followed by the wrath of the MACs.

" _Registering thirty… forty… fifty four hits. Four cruisers destroyed, six damaged, two battleships heavily damaged and one destroyed,_ " Verdant quickly reeled off the battlenet data that Garcia was too busy to read. " _Got them!_ "

 _Not good enough,_ the Abyssals seemed to reply. Cruiser Division Seven, the _All That Glisters_ , _King of Kings_ , _Jabberwocky_ , _Enuma Elis_ , and _Babylon Garden_ , disappeared in a brilliant hail of plasma lances and a ball of nuclear fire. Battleship _Ishtar_ retreated under heavy bombardment, her hull pockmarked with fires and shedding armor and atmosphere. To _Scorpia_ 's port, destroyer _Taurus_ took a glancing hit that broke her shields, wiped out one of its main propulsion units and continued out the other side. _Cassiopeia_ , zigzagging to dodge a bracket of plasma beams, detected a stealth torpedo too late to stop a fatal turn which carried her directly into its path. Garcia's mouth went dry, knowing that that could easily have been _Scorpia_. "Set wide-spectrum scan for torpedoes. Status on point defenses?"

"Heavily damaged, but operational at thirty percent capacity."

"Missiles?"

"Magazines for pods 1 through 27 are depleted, 28 through 50 are at 25 percent stocks."

"Missiles and railguns will cease action and standby, do not fire unless I order so. Get the MACs reloaded, make sure the repairs are holding. Initiate reload cycle on the point defenses." Garcia turned his attention back to the main display and noticed the fleet maneuvering to mask its propulsion from the Abyssals. A smart move, but a touch too late considering how many ships struggled to complete the turn due to their damaged engines. He motioned for the helm to turn _Scorpia_ bow on to the Abyssals. "Contact _Hope Springs Eternal_ , request maneuvering orders."

"Yes sir. Initiating tight beam-"

An incoming comm alert buzzed in Garcia's ear, preempting the comms officer. Captain Khalid appeared before him, even more haggard than the last time Garcia had seen him, and cut right to the chase. _"_ Scorpia _, Admiral Williams orders you to attach and subordinate your ship to my squadron._ " He paused, grabbed a canteen and sucked down half its contents. " _Provide point-defense support and prepare for action. The fleet is preparing to break orbit and advance to the IJP._ "

 _Not even a 'how do you do', eh?_ Garcia held back the urge to swear, opting for a slightly incredulous, "What?"

" _Watch your tongue. We're trading three of our ships for one of theirs,_ " Khalid snapped back. " _Would you like to just sit here and take it?_ "

"...no."

" _I'm glad you under-_ " The feed fuzzed out as _Eternal_ took a hit. All eyes snapped to the battlenet display, waiting with bated breath for the damage report. It resolved after a moment, showing a direct mass driver hit on the bow. It was a testament to her design and construction that _Eternal_ hadn't exploded on the spot, but the sheer force behind the hit disabled two power distribution pathways, destroyed a dozen compartments, opened a dozen more to vacuum, and caused the cruiser's bow structural integrity to falter. Her status flickered between green and yellow, dipping into red for a breathless second, before it eventually settled back on green as repair parties got the damage under control. A hearty cheer went up for the cruiser's stubbornness and Garcia heard Verdant breathe a virtual sigh of relief, cut short by a series of alerts. A ragged wave of missiles, hot on the heels of the mass driver round, approached the ships. _Scorpia_ 's tireless point defenses engaged the bogies, combining with _Eternal_ , cruiser _Hic Sunt Dracones_ , and destroyers _Betelgeuse_ and _Virgo_ to wipe them out almost as an afterthought.

Garcia offered a silent thanks to _Eternal_ for drawing fire away from the fragile destroyers. "Verdant, signal that we are complying with orders. Move us into escort position off _Eternal_ 's starboard, put secondaries and point defenses on high alert," Garcia ordered, "and get that channel back!"

" _No need for that, though your escort is appreciated._ " Khalid reappeared, sporting a bloody nose. Behind him, something on the bridge looked to be on fire. " _We have detected that the Abyssal fleet has moved out of range of their slipspace jammers at the IJP. Admiral Williams plans for our corvettes to perform attacks on the enemy rear via precision jump. The fleet will simultaneously break its orbital position and advance to the jump point._ " He paused to look over at a display on _Eternal_ 's bridge. " _Corvettes are preparing to jump now. Be ready._ "

"Roger that." The channel cut off. On the tacnet, the surviving corvettes broke formation to burn for safe jump distance in a deliberately chaotic fashion meant to look like a rout. The fleet simultaneously intensified fire and maneuvered into an aggressive formation to draw attention from them, and the Abyssals ignored the apparently panicking ships to concentrate on the larger threat. As MAC rounds and energy projectors flew back and forth, the corvettes jumped to slipspace. "Lord speed your way," Garcia whispered, before an alarm alerted him to an incoming energy projector. "Hard to port!"

 _Scorpia_ fired her starboard maneuvering thrusters but the plasma beam bent to track the destroyer. It seared along her flank, burning away much of her starboard armor plating and weapons mounts, damaging coolant lines and opening compartments to vacuum, though by some good fortune neither the engines nor the structural plating sustained important damage. Verdant appeared in her holotank and said something about point defenses being heavily degraded. Garcia quickly ordered damage control and rescue parties to the scene, but felt his jaw tighten at the thought of yet more of his crew slaughtered like fish in a barrel while he sat pretty on the bridge, safe and helpless.

While _Scorpia_ burned and struggled to regain her course, the fleet traded another salvo with the Abyssals. The destroyer's MACs gained some measure of revenge by helping to finish off a battleship and kill two more cruisers in exchange for cruisers _Mare Tranquillitatis_ , _River Plate_ , and _Cleanup Crew_ , and heavy damage to battleship _Revenge_. He offered a quiet prayer for the crews' souls, even as rescue ships combed through the wreckage in a futile search for survivors. "Verdant, status on the corvettes?"

" _Slipspace willing, their attack should commence in ten minutes_."

"Got it, keep me posted." His thoughts were underlined as _Cruel To Be Kind_ , firing its MACs on rapid cycle and maneuvering in formation as part of CruDiv 5, suffered a penetration that wiped out its bridge and almost all of its staff officers. "Fuel status?" he called out, more to fill the nervous silence than anything.

"Thirty percent reserves."

"And our slipspace drive?"

The helm officer took a moment to quietly consult with engineering before reporting, "Light damage, but it'll hold. Maximum jump distance is one hundred light years."

"Can we sustain Cole jumps?"

"Yes sir. Shall I start plotting?"

"Do it," Garcia ordered. "Verdant, help out."

Verdant flickered as she split off a personality fragment to assist the helm officer, momentarily giving her whispered update a kind of double-voice. " _The fleet is assuming a defensive formation._ " Wanting to conserve strength until the critical moment, Admiral Williams gave orders for the remaining battleships to form a loose half-sphere and for lighter vessels to array themselves in a honeycomb pattern centered around the battleships. While the formation dispersed and reduced the fleet's firepower, it also presented no particular salients or points where the Abyssals could strike from multiple angles. A textbook defensive maneuver, it would keep the fleet alive a little longer… at least in theory, which Garcia held onto even as the Abyssals casually focused fire on cruiser _Avalon_. Meanwhile, the frigates broke away from their knife fights and retreated, trading parting shots with their Abyssal counterparts and flinging torpedoes as they fled for the safety of the battle line. They had succeeded in their mission, stopping stealth fighters and torpedoes from getting through to the UNSC line, but at a terrible cost. "Eternal _has passed us a maneuvering solution._ "

"Implement it. And let's cover those frigates. MAC status!"

"Both barrels hot, repairs are holding."

"Verdant, inform _Eternal_ we are engaging enemy frigates and to expect torpedoes. Fire control, target that frigate, cover our own." Garcia designated the target, then paused as another UNSC volley flew past. When the dust settled, it revealed a trio of destroyers destroyed and a cruiser damaged but left the frigates unmolested. He motioned for the firing process to continue and waited a second for the firing solution to resolve.

"Fire!" The first pair of shots went wide as Abyssal sensor interference played havoc with the fire control systems, alerting the Abyssal frigate to its predicament. It immediately began maneuvering, erratically changing its speed while turning and unleashing a salvo of missiles. _Scorpia_ couldn't yet detect them, but Garcia was sure a spread of torpedoes was right behind them.

"Captain, _Eternal_ is signaling an evasive turn. _Dracones, Betelgeuse,_ and _Virgo_ are turning as well, signaling that they are supporting us."

"Acknowledge them. Helm, turn to avoid torpedoes. Weapons, fire pods 28 through 35, aim to bracket target." _Scorpia_ turned 45 degrees to starboard and four degrees up from her previous course while firing her own missiles. Her point defenses engaged the enemy missiles at 600 kilometers while her salvo forced the enemy frigate onto a straight-line course. The frigate replied with a volley of plasma beams at _Virgo_ , but her turn carried her neatly out of the way, allowing the shots to fly harmlessly off into space. In return, the frigate's shields buckled under the strain of two hits from _Betelgeuse_ 's main battery.

"Solid hit! Enemy's shields are weakened, reading forty percent absorption capacity."

"MAC reloaded."

"Send Captain Kawabe my compliments. Keep up the pressure, fire one!" Unable to turn without running into a cloud of missiles, the Abyssal ate a MAC round that shattered upon its shields but broke them in return. "Fire two!" The second round missed, but sensing weakness, CruDiv 11 pounced like a pack of hyenas. Another MAC hit, followed by a pair of nuclear warheads, then a quintet of plasma lances which burned through its armor and lit it on fire. Two more plasma lances punched through the melted and bubbling armor and must have hit something vital, because the frigate shuddered and exploded in a brilliant fireball. _Scorpia_ 's reactors temporarily went to 110 percent, accelerating to avoid a spread of last-ditch torpedoes while the division's point defenses worked them over like a shredder on paper.

"Energy signatures dissipating, kill confirmed. No further torpedoes spotted." The sensor officer allowed himself a fist pump. "We're in the clear."

" _Woohoo!_ "

"Suck it!"

"Eat shit, alien sonsabitches!"

The cheers of the crew nearly drowned out a comm from frigate _Balmung_. " _Thanks for the assist,_ Scorpia _._ " She, along with the battered and burning _Mystletainn_ , fell into formation, hiding behind _Eternal_ while their shields rebuilt and they put out fires and patched holes. " _We'll stick with you from now on._ "

"Roger that. Take your maneuvering orders from Captain Khalid on _Hope Springs Eternal_." Garcia allowed himself a satisfied smile as the screen cut off. "Good job, everyone. Turn to regroup with the fleet, and notch one more kill."

" _The frigates are squawking heavy casualties and widespread equipment failure. I don't know how useful they'll be,_ " said Verdant, cutting down on Garcia's buzz. He shot her an annoyed look.

"You don't have to be so blunt about it," Garcia chided while skimming the automated reports. "Their main batteries and torpedoes are still functional. Propulsion isn't bad either, though we might have to tow them through a portal." He turned to the helm officer. "Matter of fact, helm, prepare tow links, just in case."

"Understood, sir!"

"Thank you." Garcia turned back to Verdant and continued, "Give optimism a try, it isn't dead yet."

Verdant failed to reply for a bit as she got the ship back into formation just in time to join in another fleet salvo. _Scorpia_ leaned back, hurling her steel at an appreciable fraction of lightspeed towards an unlucky trio of destroyers and a cruiser, which exploded under the gentle ministrations of two battleship divisions and five cruiser divisions. The Abyssals were happy to trade it for concentrated fire on the battleship _Perseus_. Her damaged shields went quickly, and her armor soon after. The mighty warship, a grand gleaming symbol of the UNSC's strength, disappeared in a brief puff of light and dust that quickly vanished into the uncaring gloom.

" _Escape craft detected, but others are assisting. Three minutes until corvette attack_ ," Verdant whispered. Garcia nodded, watching the MAC charge bar climb. Despite his outward calm, marred only by sweat lining his brow and his rumpled collar, his heart pounded as the seconds ticked down, each one longer than the last. Surely the fleet wouldn't sit on its thumbs for much longer? The corvettes couldn't pull their mission off without some kind of distraction. They'd be blown up as soon as they jumped in.

"Raise _Eternal_ , find out the plan for coverin-" Garcia resisted the urge to roll his eyes when yet another incoming comm cut him off. _Can't get a thought in edgewise today._

Perhaps sympathizing, Khalid kept the comm brief. " _All units CruDiv 11, prepare to advance on the Abyssal battleline. The frigates will take out the slipspace jammers. Shields front, and good luck_." The communication cut out as quick as it came, and the display registered the ships around _Scorpia_ bringing their thrust up to full power.

"All units are coming to full burn," reported the comms officer. "Receiving orders… confirmed. Admiral Williams orders all units to set a course for the IJP, keeping enemy fleet to bow port quarter, in formation diamond wedge." He looked over at Garcia. "What's our move…?" He trailed off, seeing Garcia's brow furrowed and his gaze distant.

"Captain, your orders?" the helm officer and Verdant asked simultaneously, the helm officer tentatively and Verdant in an impatient bordering on insubordinate tone.

The question snapped Garcia out of his tactical musings. "Helm, maintain speed and formation with _Eternal_. We can't afford to go freewheeling off. Verdant, implement our specific maneuvering orders." As the crew leapt to carry out his directions, he turned to the weapons officer. "All active batteries will fire until out of ammunition."

"Yes sir, bringing all batteries online. Targeting missiles… " _Scorpia_ 's surviving railguns came to life, slamming eight-ton shells outwards at ten rounds per minute per gun from dual-mount turrets. With even the near-bottomless stocks a UNSC warship possessed nearing exhaustion, the missile pods disgorged their remaining contents in staggered volleys, designed for salvo survivability rather than maximum weight of fire. However, this did not mean the volleys were sparse, and space once again became more steel than vacuum as hordes of missiles trailed MAC rounds and energy projectors on a collision course with unwary Abyssal warships. The Abyssals seemed taken aback at the UNSC's advance as several of their ships received fatal hits, perhaps not believing the humans could have the audacity to go on the attack after an entire battle on the defensive. Their first shots missed, underestimating the acceleration of their targets, as they began to return fire in earnest rather than their heretofore lazy, semi-coordinated potshots.

"Cooling systems are damaged, operating at reduced capacity," the weapons officer warned. "We have to reduce our rate of fire or we risk overheating our guns."

"Do it, just keep them firing!" Even a little slower, _Scorpia_ still held nothing back, expending the rest of her missile reserves and draining the power banks of her laser arrays. The fierce barrage clouded Abyssal sensors with debris and radiation, so much so that they didn't notice a series of slipspace portals opening up behind their lines.

With a flash of light, corvettes coming out of slipspace lit their propulsion and dashed towards the Abyssal rear. Distracted by the ferocity of the UNSC battleline, the Abyssals were slow to respond. The corvettes closed to nearly point-blank range before firing. Their torpedoes forwent their usual stealthed approach in favor of speed, lighting their powerful fusion drives as soon as they cleared their launchers. Their onboard guidance systems coordinated with each other and the corvette squadrons, forming a local fire control network that battled through the Abyssal haze. The torpedoes homed in on the capital ships, caught flat-footed in wide turns as they tried to bring their main batteries to bear on the scattering corvettes, and mercilessly delivered their payload to the Abyssals' doorsteps.

" _The diversion worked! Registering massive Cherenkov spikes - the corvettes have engaged the Abyssals!_ " Verdant reported, tone pleasantly surprised. " _Multiple kills confirmed. The enemy formation is broken. Now's our chance!_ "

"Full forward thrust! Set a course for the IJP! Cover the frigates on their attack run." _Scorpia's_ propulsion roared back to full thrust as _Balmung_ and _Mystletainn_ , rearmed and repaired along with their fellow frigates, soared past on their way to attack the slipspace jammers surrounding the IJP. A few Abyssal ships lashed out at them on their approach, focusing down and disabling frigate _Kris_ with a hit to the engineering spaces, but for the most part their attention was held by the corvette attack. The frigates quickly closed with the stationary, fragile slipspace jammers and launched nuclear missiles and MAC rounds from multiple angles, first bracketing and then putting shots on target that overwhelmed their shields and engulfed them in balls of fire.

" _Jammers destroyed!_ "

"Verifying… registering positive manifold gain. Our way is clear."

Admiral Williams' voice came through the comm. " _All ships, proceed to the IJP and jump on my signal_."

"Finally, something's going to plan!" _Scorpia_ began charging her slipspace drive, maneuvering to throw off a few incoming missiles which her brutalized defenses feebly swatted at. The battleships and cruisers formed up into a vanguard, shielding the fragile transports that huddled within protective balls of destroyers. Slipspace portals appeared around them as corvettes, those that hadn't been destroyed, jumped to rejoin the fleet. They left an Abyssal fleet in disarray, multiple capital ships destroyed or disabled and sensors blinded by radiation and debris. Some smaller ships, unscathed by the daring strike, fired on the UNSC independently, but nothing approaching the coordinated salvos that could quickly destroy the mightiest battleships.

"One minute to full drive charge, thrust set full ahead."

"Bow up twenty degrees, get the ship clear for jump," Garcia ordered. He reviewed the tactical net one more time, making sure there was enough space for the straight run that a slipspace jump required, and that none of the Abyssal guns were looking at _Scorpia_. Luckily, they all seemed concentrated on the battleships. He reached for the PA system to address the crew. "All hands, clear the decks for slipspace jump. Repeat, make the ship ready for slipspac-"

A chill went down Garcia's spine, and he involuntarily dropped the mic. The bridge crew looked at him with concern, but he couldn't stop his hands from trembling. Something big was coming. He found the mic and steadied his hands with great effort. "Belay that order! Secure for radical maneuvers!"

" _Captain?_ " Verdant worriedly asked, " _What's wron-_ "

"Slipspace rupture detected, high mass object in transit," reported the sensor officer, disbelief in his voice. "Resolving now."

" _That's - that's -_ " Even Verdant was rendered speechless at the massive vessel that exited the slipspace portal, two thousand kilometers distant from the IJP. The battlenet estimated it at anything from fifty to seventy kilometers long, off the charts sensor clouding making it a struggle for a fleet's worth of networked fire control systems to achieve so much as a missile lock. Its size made it appear almost stationary as the portal closed behind it, a sun-bright glow in its rear giving a hint as to the size of its propulsion. Even the _Pantheon-_ class battleships were dwarfed by the thing - Garcia could almost feel a tremble of fear go through _Scorpia_ 's hull as he truly realized how powerless he was.

Somehow, his crew managed to maintain their calm and professionalism. "New contact, unknown classification. Designated hostile, X-class, unable to resolve details."

"Radiation spike detected. Hostile is charging weapons… hostile has targeted _Scorpia_."

"Firing solution achieved, estimate seventy percent hit probability."

" _All units, target that unknown! Fire at will!_ " Every ship that had a gun brought it to bear on the massive enemy vessel. Everything from energy projectors to PDCs fired, unleashing a storm of ordnance that could have swept away the mightiest Covenant fleets against the behemoth's shields. The first energy projectors hit followed by heavy MAC rounds impacting with earth-shattering force, enough that Garcia thought that some progress was being made. Perhaps that giant was all bark and no bite.

Verdant swore, echoing Garcia's own groan of disappointment as the data started trickling back through the battlenet. The concentrated fire of the entire fleet, at essentially spitting distance, might as well have disappeared into the aether for all the good it did. He doubted that the dreadnought had even noticed. "Break formation, evasive maneuvers, war emergency power! Reload all weapons!" Garcia shouted, echoing the commands coming across the battlenet. "Get us out of the line of-"

Garcia froze, as did the officers and sailors around him, as a lightning bolt struck through his brain and ran down his spine. Something deep within him, a primal fear that he didn't even realize he possessed, roared to life. His tongue twisted uselessly as he tried to speak and his throat sealed itself off. His limbs refused to obey his will, or what little he possessed of it as an overwhelming, oppressing sense of malice filled his mind. He heard Verdant shouting at him, but her voice came from a distance, and it was all he could do not to curl up into a ball and cry, let along answer her.

" _... brace!_ " Garcia's nostrils filled with the smell of burning hair, even as he was slammed out of his seat when all of _Scorpia_ 's port emergency thrusters fired. The killing intent lessened, enough so that he could lift his head and try to take stock of the situation. " _Captain!_ "

"Jump!" he cried, voice cracking like a child. "Jump! _Jump now!_ "

" _Massive damage, decks one through seven are_ gone _!_ " Verdant answered in place of the helm officer, slumped over and out cold from a blow to the head. Time seemed to slow as Garcia looked around the bridge. Three fires burned, barely contained by the suppression systems and feeding off oxygen from the life support lines. Consoles laid shattered everywhere and the main display was down. The walls were scorched, melted and bubbling in places, and half the structural beams were bent and twisted beyond recognition. " _The engineering spaces are compromised. We jump now, we blow up!_ "

By some miracle, the comm array was still partially active and receiving - not that the messages it caught were of any real comfort. "Bellerophon _, our propulsion is down!_ "

" _Massive casualties!_ "

" _We're crippled and burning, I need help!_ "

"Poseidon _is not responding to communications._ "

" _Mayday, mayday…_ "

"My God," Garcia breathed, prompting a derisive laugh from Verdant.

" _Now what was that about a little optimism?_ "

"Shut up." Perhaps it was luck, maybe divine intervention, but the dreadnought's barrage concentrated mainly on a single battleship division. _Athena_ , five cruisers and eleven destroyers were gone, deleted from the universe, but the other two hundred-ish surviving ships were relatively untouched.

Only relatively though. Half the fleet was reporting damaged or destroyed slipspace drives, and most ships had suffered at least some propulsion damage. Some could still jump, mainly a few lucky cruisers, some battleships and the transports protected within them, but that left around 150 cruisers, destroyers, frigates and corvettes to the not-so-gentle mercies of the regrouping, vengeful Abyssals. Not to mention that behemoth of a ship, hanging languidly like a guillotine above the necks of the fleet.

Garcia started running through his options. "Can you raise damage control parties?"

" _Negative, our internal comms are cut._ "

"How about _Eternal_?"

" _She's not responding to comms. Her engines are lit, but I think that blast burned through her comm array_." Verdant paused. " _Cherenkov spike, she's jumping._ "

 _"Blast._ " Garcia could not blame the cruiser for fleeing, any sane man would have done the same. _"_ Do we have _any_ maneuvering control?"

" _I can light one main thruster and that's it._ "

Just as the comm chatter reached a panicked, fevered pitch, a singular voice somehow forced itself above it all. " _All units, this is Admiral Williams_." The admiral's voice cut through the cacophony of distress calls clogging up the battlenet. Every ship fell silent as he spoke. " _I have assumed command of_ Ozymandias _. Our drive is still operational and we will open a slipspace portal for ships with disabled drives to jump through._ Ozymandias _will remain behind and delay the enemy. Godspeed, and get out of here!_ "

A moment passed, and a swirling portal opened up off of _Ozymandias_ ' bow. Seizing the reprieve with the desperation of condemned men, her escorting destroyers fired off the rest of their missiles and dove through. After a moment of hesitation, other battleships fired up their portals as well, broadcasting nav beacons on full power to guide their smaller brethren. As ships piled in their drives screamed in agony from the strain, only the stabilizing gravitational tides of the IJP allowing the portals to stay open under so much stress. Mass drivers, plasma lances and missiles whittled the battleships down as the rest of the Abyssals finally regrouped from the corvette attack, but they would take quite a bit of punishment yet.

 _This is our only chance._ "Verdant, propulsion status."

" _Down for the count,_ " she said, calmly resigned. " _I just lost the last engine and I can't raise the engineering spaces, and we can't exactly send anyone to call on them._ " She gave a pointed glance at the damage control display, where the engineering compartments were displayed in the angry red of vacuum exposure. " _Oh, and the big one is charging its weapons again. Just thought you'd want to know._ "

"Where's _Eternal_? Can she tow us?"

" _She's jumped, everyone's either jumped, dead, or running._ " Battleship _Hades_ received a hit to its citadel and detonated shortly after. The portal she sustained snapped shut, cutting an unfortunate frigate in half and leaving others flat-footed, scrambling for another exit while Abyssal ships picked them off one by one.

"Goddammit!" Seeing escape so close yet being unable to maneuver towards it was utterly maddening. Garcia chewed his lip in frantic thought; maybe _Scorpia_ could vent atmosphere for propulsion? Or perhaps use the recoil of the MAC somehow? Whatever happened it needed to happen fast—

 _Scorpia_ jerked underneath his feet, then the sensation of gradual acceleration took over. " _We're moving?_ " Verdant pressed a finger to her temple in concentration. A moment passed, and her eyes widened. " _We're under tow -_ Balmung _and_ Mystletainn _are linked to us. They're still active?_ "

"Does it matter?! Can we help?"

" _I have control of emergency thrusters, firing now!_ " _Scorpia_ 's last few emergency rockets fired, hurling her forwards and just out of the way of a plasma lance that speared through space fifty meters off her stern. Someone within the ship got a power line restored, and the display flickered back to life showing _Balmung_ and _Mystletainn_ straining like dogs on a leash attached to _Scorpia_. " _We're on a heading towards_ Ozymandias. _I think… I think we can make it!_ "

"Come on… !" Garcia felt utterly pathetic, rendered a mere spectator in potentially the last act of his life. It was like taking part in a horse race strapped to the belly of a lame stallion, one in which the audience was issued assault rifles. _Balmung_ and _Mystletainn_ hauled with all their might, slowly picking up speed, doggedly advancing despite the volleys of fire falling around them.

"Ozy _'s shields are at 25 percent… not good._ "

"Don't jinx it Verdant. Almost there…!"

But it was not to be. The Abyssal leviathan fired again, tearing through the last of _Ozymandias_ ' shields and ripping massive holes in her armor. The slip space portal quivered and shook, but remained open. Every ship making for it poured on the speed, _Balmung_ and _Mystletainn_ included, but it just wasn't enough.

An energy projector hurtled towards _Ozymandias_ in slow motion, aiming straight for a breach in her armor. Garcia felt a bitter taste fill his mouth. To be so close only to see salvation denied… that was a special kind of messed up. For once, Verdant didn't have a snarky comment, though he could hear her desperately, fruitlessly trying to raise the engineering spaces. He closed his eyes and gripped his armrests tight, trying to resign himself to his fate, but also to try and coax one last bit of thrust out of _Scorpia_ 's engines through sheer force of will. _Come on old girl, you've still got fight in you._ The act made him feel immensely foolish, but he persisted. _You can do it… !_

 _"What the—_ " Someone must have heard his prayers, or perhaps there was still someone alive in engineering, because for the briefest of moments _Scorpia_ 's engines lit up once more. The force of the main propulsion, something Garcia thought he'd never feel again, slammed him back and hurled _Scorpia_ the last few kilometers into the portal right before _Ozymandias_ took the fatal hit and snapped the portal shut in a fiery detonation.

Minutes passed, and an eerie quiet filled the bridge. The sudden silence was suffocating, but Garcia hardly dared gasp for breath. Slowly, he popped open one eye, and then the next, trying to persuade his brain and body that he was, in fact, alive. "… Verdant?"

" _Yes sir?_ "

"Are we…"

" _Affirmative, sir. We are in slipspace._ "

The fight drained out of Garcia's body. He dropped his face into his hands, letting out a deep, shaky sigh. A few moments passed while he breathed deeply, before Verdant's gentle cough prompted him back up.

" _Sir? Do you have any orders?_ "

He had to take a minute to collect himself and make sure what he said would be something resembling coherent. _Orders? God, what can we even do?_ Looking at the damage reports and estimated casualty lists, Garcia could feel himself slipping into a hole of despair. _It's going to take a miracle to save_ Scorpia _from the scrapyard._

 _"Sir?_ "

"Right." Garcia could almost feel the same despair he felt coming from the ship itself, deep, powerful, and dark beyond measure, and knew that this of all times was not the time to flake out. He had an example to set. "ETA to Reach?"

" _Assuming Cole jumps, one day._ "

"Okay." _Miles to go before we sleep._ It would be a struggle to hold the ship together for the entire jump, but for the sake of the crew he had to try. "… try to restore internal comms." Garcia rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond belief, and looked around at the bridge officers, just now beginning to stir. Veterans of seven years of war against the Abyssal horde, each and every one of them, and not a meaningful single victory to show for it. And now, with this... perhaps it was foolishness to keep fighting. What could mere men do against the monsters of the void? At this point, it would take a miracle to save humanity. An angel from heaven, perhaps. Garcia thought about it for a bit, then laughed quietly. As if heaven still cared about humans. Whatever gods there were, they had not followed humans into the stars.

" _Captain, are you there?_ "

Garcia sighed. "Yes, Verdant. I'll see who I can wake up here. Then… I guess I'll go below and see what I can do to help."

* * *

"... and enough oxygen to last three hours, if we don't spring another leak."

Private Ling finished his report in a depressingly resigned tone. Hospital Corpsman First Class Chiho Hikowa thought about reprimanding him, but decided that she couldn't blame him. She settled for a single F-bomb.

"Might wanna work on that bedside manner, doc." Crewman Vasiliev smirked up at her from the floor, one arm held up as she wrapped a bandage around it. The smirk turned into a yelp when her knee dug into his side.

"Be a smartass to the person measuring out your morphine, see how that works for you."

"Shut up, you two," ordered Lieutenant Parks, pacing around the small infirmary and running a hand through his hair. "You're wasting oxygen."

"And you aren't?"

"I'm thinking, wiseass." He stopped his pacing and leaned against a wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure the radio isn't working at all?"

Ling rapped his knuckles against the spall-riddled shell of the radio. "You want to try it? Be my guest." He gave the thing a resentful look, as if he were about to drop kick it across the infirmary.

"I could try banging on the wall," offered Vasiliev, pointing at a wrench laying on a nearby table. "Better than nothing, and it's not like I'll be of much use anyway else."

Parks glanced over at him, then to Hikowa. "Doc?"

"I don't think that'll be a problem, as long as you don't overstrain yourself like an idiot," she said, tugging the bandage firm for emphasis. From Vasiliev's wince, it seemed to work.

"Got it, got it." He swung his arm gently back and forth a couple of times, then stood and picked up the wrench. Looking about hesitantly, he asked, "Should I tap out anything specific?"

"SOS. Three short, three long, three short." Vasiliev nodded and went to work. Out of the corner of her eye, Hikowa noticed Parks motioning her to come close. She gestured for Ling to keep an eye on Vasiliev, then went over. "Doc, be real with me here," Parks whispered, "What are the chances someone comes for us?"

Hikowa's brow furrowed as she thought. "Well, there's vacuum on the other side of that door." She pointed at the entrance to the infirmary, sporting a large makeshift patch made out of duct tape and thick sheets of isolation plastic. "And we're in slipspace. The ship's shot up so bad that we're down to the backup to the emergency life support, and it can barely keep up with four of us, so I'd wager the rest of the ship is slowly suffering carbon dioxide poisoning. We have no breathing gear. Add all that together and…" She sighed and sat down heavily in a chair. "I doubt anyone even knows or cares we're stuck here. So, we're kinda fucked."

A heavy silence fell over the infirmary after that. Ling and Vasiliev continued to tap with the wrench, to no avail. Hikowa could feel the atmosphere getting stale and heavy as the badly damaged life support slowly failed. As a last resort, she ordered everyone to lie down to conserve energy and reduce oxygen intake, and turned on several battery fans to circulate the air. Vasiliev and Ling still made the occasional tap against the wall, but as their arms grew heavier their blows grew weaker and weaker to the point where they could barely lift the wrench.

Bit by bit, Hikowa felt her thinking grow slower and her body grow heavier, sure signs of oxygen deprivation. From a clinical perspective, she supposed it was interesting to observe how death by hypoxia played out. From a personal perspective, she thought it was a dumb fucking way to die. "Hey… Doc…" Hikowa turned her head toward the sound of Ling's voice. "Does it hurt? Going this way?"

She hesitated, then decided that honesty couldn't hurt. "Yeah. It's a fucking pain in the ass."

"Fuck me…" Ling weakly lifted his head. "Well, fuck this. I'll try to get some morphine and trip balls until I bite it." He tried to crawl towards the containers containing doses of morphine, but was so weak that he just scrabbled pathetically on the floor. To Hikowa's oxygen-deprived brain it was kind of funny, but she lacked the breath to laugh. Frustrated, and with the last of his strength, Ling threw the wrench towards the container but whiffed it wide. The wrench skittered across the floor, clanged against the door, then spun into a corner.

"Nice going… asshole," Vasiliev snarled with all the vehemence he could muster, which amounted to very little. Ling flipped him off, then dropped his arm to the floor, exhausted by even that minor effort. Closing her eyes, Hikowa could begin to feel a tight and burning sensation in her lungs, and did her best to relax and get as comfortable as she could.

When the knocking began, she thought she was hallucinating. After all, there couldn't possibly be someone at the door, could there? No way Captain Garcia would spare anyone to come out here on S and R when there was so much repair work to be done. But as the knocking continued, she looked to her side and met Parks' gaze. There was confusion writ in his expression, which confirmed she wasn't the only one hearing the knocking.

"Someone…?" he gasped, and Hikowa gave a small nod in confirmation. At this point, both Ling and Vasiliev were mercifully passed out, and Hikowa didn't have the breath to even whisper. With great effort, Parks propped himself up on his elbows and gathered all the air into his lungs he could. "Help! We're in here! Help!"

The knocking stopped. Hikowa felt her brief spot of hope drain out of her, leaving her even more tired than before. A curse formed on her lips, but died out when a pinprick of light shone from the door. The pinprick turned into a line that snaked its way around the frame, glowing bright white and red. It connected back to its start, leaving a rectangle that glowed with heat around its edges. A brief moment passed, which Hikowa felt like an eternity, and the door fell inwards.

A rush of oxygen accompanied it, instantly relieving the pressure on her lungs. Hikowa tried to suck in as much as she could, but ended up in a violent coughing fit. She heard hurried footsteps, then felt hands on her body lifting her up and propping her against a wall, patting her back as she hacked out her lungs. "Who… who are you?" she managed to get out, between coughs.

"I'm Dawn," her savior replied. Hikowa tried to look at her, but couldn't muster the strength to turn her head. "Don't worry, just rest."

"Can't… gotta… help the others…"

"Hey, hey, relax!" She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. A wave of calming energy emanated from where it touched her, soaking deep into her bones. "Don't worry about a thing, I'll take care of it. You'll be fine, because I'm here now!"


	2. Chapter 2

" _Warship, this is Eridani System Control, identify yourself or be destroyed, over._ "

"Eridani System Control, this is UNSC _Scorpia._ Sending identification package now, over."

" _Stand by… confirmed, proceed, over_."

"Requesting docking authorization for immediate emergency repairs, over."

"Scorpia _, stand by… sending your maneuvering solution. Maintain formation with your escort. Eridani System Control, out._ "

Verdant tapped a virtual data pad a few times, then disappeared it and looked up at Garcia. " _Maneuvering solution set, sir_." A long red arc appeared on the display, connecting _Scorpia_ to one of the heavy repair and refit docks orbiting and embedded in the surface of Reach's moon Turul. A small blinking diamond showed a pair of _Blackbird-_ class corvettes burning to meet the destroyer.

"Thank you, Verdant." Garcia rubbed eyes red with sleep deprivation and furrowed his brow. He stared at the damage report in front of him, suddenly realizing he had spent the past five minutes reading the same sentence. He grumbled in frustration and jabbed his finger at the hologram to scroll down.

The bridge door slid open and admitted a bedraggled marine. She picked and stumbled her way through the debris to stand in front of Garcia and rendered a sloppy salute. "Report, captain."

Garcia took a moment to finish reading the current section on the damage to life support. Warnings of critical damage and systems running on local backup really ought to have concerned him more than they did, but nobody seemed to have asphyxiated yet. "Sergeant Armandez," he said, returning the salute. "Proceed."

"Engineering has successfully replaced the cooling manifolds in Reactor Three. We are back to fifty percent maximum propulsion output. Also, Medical reports that all casualties are stable and prepared to transfer off the ship."

"Excellent. Send them my gratitude for their good work." Frowning, Garcia studied Armandez a little closer. "Sergeant, how long have you been running messages?"

"Um…" Thinking hard, Armandez unconsciously began to sway back on forth on her heels. "Thirty five… seven hours?"As she thought, it was as if all her body's bills had come due at once, and a wave of fatigue large enough to qualify as a tsunami slammed visibly slammed into her. Her posture, already less than stellar, positively wilted.

Garcia felt his own exhaustion begin to catch up, but fought off the desire to black out then and there. "Why haven't you been replaced?"

"Everybody else been up forty…sir," she mumbled, eyes drooping to half mast before shooting back up. "Uh, sorry. Sir."

"Get some sleep, sergeant. That's an order. Verdant will assign you quarters."

"Yessir…" Her lack of polite protest told Garcia all he needed to know, and it was with a start of guilt that he realized he'd forgotten to ask one thing.

"Before you go, one last thing. Has the prisoner said anything?"

"The prisoner? Uhhh…" Armandez scratched her head with a befuddled expression. "Her… well, the thing is…"

* * *

 _Clang_

 _Clang_

 _Clang_

 _Cla-_

"You can keep that up or you can keep your kneecaps."

"… sorry." Dawn caught the tennis ball and stuck it in her pocket. She then folded her hands under her head, trying to get comfortable on the hard metal floor of her cell. Just her luck to get stuck with the most hardassed, non-conversational guards this side of the Ark. With most anything she could do to entertain herself prohibited, and uninterested in the tatty tabloid wilted in the corner of the cell, Dawn decided to run a self-diagnostic. Again.

 _Commencing diagnostics… again._

Muttering a few choice comments, her engineers got to work. Dawn couldn't blame them. But arrested and thrown into the brig on suspicion of trespass and stowing away, what else could a girl do? No one would let her speak to an officer or present her case. Dawn wasn't quite sure what her new limits were, but even if she was pretty confident the cell door wouldn't prove much resistance to a solid kick, breaking out would likely be unproductive. Finally, she couldn't access the local Waypoint net, so any chance of figuring out what new shitstorm she'd woken up to was right out. Anything she did or said might just make her situation worse.

Though speaking of her new limits…

Her own body. What a damned strange thing to say, and yet even as she mouthed the words Dawn felt a rather giddy rush. Her body. Not a hull with sensors and weapons and thrusters, though she could still feel hers in the back of her mind, ready to be called upon, but a body with eyes and ears and arms and legs. One that she was actually, truly in charge of, not operating at the will of another, and now she had the time to figure it out.

Testing her newfound control, Dawn stuck her arms up straight, hands silhouetted by the harsh LED light set into the ceiling, and laced her fingers together. Wasn't it funny how they came together just right, fitting just right into the gaps? She then wiggled them around, suddenly fascinated by her ability to move each one independently. What range of motion compared to a blocky, clunky hull, and fine motor control to boot! Discovering shadow puppets, she amused herself for a few moments by making two dogs play — could she get a dog? — before a strand of hair fell onto her face and tickled her nose. "A-a-a-" The weird pressure in the back of her sinuses died away before she could relieve it, leaving Dawn with an itchy throat and a profound sense of disappointment. In vain, she did everything she could do induce the pressure again. Simultaneously she practiced using her hands, tying her hair back into a rough ponytail to keep it under control, then found a particularly polished patch of floor to look at the results.

The face that looked back at her was familiar, yet foreign. Tanned, almost olive skin, smooth like a sheet of titanium despite years of radiation exposure. Plasma-blue irises met each other in round eyes above a freckled nose. Dawn self-consciously licked her chapped, dry lips, and her reflection did the same. She tilted her head down, up and sideways, trying to get a better angle on her hair, and in the process lifted her shirt just a bit, exposing a thick, messy, and raised scar that ran across her abdomen.

"What the…?" Lifting her shirt above her stomach, Dawn found the scar continued around her entire body, passing directly across the bump of one of her vertebrae. She traced it with a finger, startled at how hard and raw and recent it felt. It was like someone, or something, chopped her in half with a pair of shears then welded her back together again.

In fact, something had, hadn't it? Repressed memories came trickling back, memories of shouts and explosions, of rotting, grotesque monsters with disgusting insect-like creatures scuttling between their legs, of relief when a Warthog crashed into her hanger, of redlining her reactor and pushing beyond that to make it through an unstable slipspace portal, of a flash of pain and a scream that she couldn't articulate, and then of seven cold and lonely years, with only a frozen super soldier and a slowly degrading AI she couldn't even talk to for company…

"Ah!" Dawn tore herself away from the past, crushing her memories of that last battle and shoving them ruthlessly into a deep, dark corner of her computer systems. She found herself on the ground, balled up and quivering, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. In the back of her consciouness her XO quietly asked if she was alright. Curtly dismissing him and batting the tears away, she breathed hard and deep, calming herself by softly reciting maintenance regulations. "P-propulsion Equipment, 2b: Auxiliary and maver-maneuvering units (Category 12b/12c) will be inspected at a m-minimum of once per three days, immediately upon entry or exit of realspace, and immediately following any incident in which the vessel engaged in action…" She also cast about for something to focus on, something physical to distract her from that deep, dark hole she stumbled upon. Something like…

 _Rumble_

Her annoyingly persistent need for food would do. Perhaps it was only fair. She hadn't eaten in, what, a day? Two days? And people — was she already calling herself people? — needed food, didn't they? Maybe hunger was making her introspective. "Um, excuse me, can I have some food?" she asked the door. "I'm actually really hungry…" Her stomach growled loudly, startling her and emphasizing her point.

No verbal reply came, but after a couple of minutes a small plastic-wrapped package came sliding through the door flap. Dawn picked it up and read off the label. "MRE, one, pasta. Date of manufacture… April 8th, 2580." She looked back at the door. "Holy shit, what year is it?" Opening the package, she was greeted with a tray of spaghetti in red sauce and ersatz meat, a small package of 'cheese', a dinner roll, three multivitamin pills, dried fruit and a bar of chocolate so dense she thought her teeth might crack on it.

"Someone run a chemical composition test on this," Dawn muttered, chipping some dust off the bar and licking it up. She set it aside and turned to the entree, which came in one of those fancy self heating packages. She tore the top foil layer off to activate the chemical heating element. While that worked she poured the cheese package on top to melt it, tore the dinner roll in half, and popped a piece in with the pills. The other piece and the fruit chased the bitter things down.

"Mm…" Even with her limited knowledge she knew this wasn't haute cuisine, but by all accounts it didn't seem so bad either. There was no small amount of grousing from her crew about ration quality, but maybe it was just meaningless bellyaching. Besides, it chased the memories away, and just that simple act made the food delicious The lab tests came back, indicating that yes, the chocolate was indeed chocolate. She ate that too, though it was bland and slightly bitter. Finally, with the cheese melted and pasta heated she poked a fork into the entree and took a careful bite.

"Ah!" Flavors exploded on her tongue, salty and savory, and Dawn recoiled in surprise. The intensity surprised her, contrary to her mental image of the bland, barely palatable MRE. She shoveled more into her mouth, savoring every bite. "Oh, wow… I've been missing out!"

"It's just an MRE, you know?"

A voice from her cell door hit Dawn's ears, causing her to jump and spin like a rabbit. "Ah! Wh-who's there?!"

"Chill, chill, lass. I'm your new babysitter." The viewport slid open, revealing a pair of warm brown eyes. "So you're Dawn, huh?"

"That's right," Dawn replied cautiously. She hesitated, then decided this guard seemed more conversational than the previous ones. Perhaps her questions would find purchase here. "Can you tell me your name?"

The eyes studied her closely. "Well, I guess. Not like my name's worth much anyway. Private Iverson."

"Private Iverson." Dawn tried that out on her tongue and decided she liked the sound of it. "Thank you. Um, the last guard…"

"Ah, him? Don't worry about it." The eyes stared into Dawn's, searching for something. "I heard you were an inquisitive little stowaway."

"I'm not a—" Dawn stopped and sighed, having been over this argument a few dozen times already. "Yeah, I have some questions."

Iverson made a humming noise and moved away from the door. Dawn felt a little pang of regret at that; after days of isolation, even a pair of eyes had been welcome human contact. "Well, you don't seem like a bad sort. Let's do a trade, one for one. How's that sound?"

"Great. Let's do this!" Dawn leapt at the chance for some answers, though some part of her thought the sudden change in policy suspicious. That part was trampled to death under a stampede of questions. The first one to beat the rest into submission and make it out of Dawn's mouth was, "Is Earth okay?"

Dawn heard that same humming noise, along with Iverson scratching her chin. "Well, I guess. I haven't been back in a while. People are nervous, of course, but that's par for the course in our corner of the galaxy…"

The rest of Iverson's answer trailed into blank noise as Dawn sat down heavily, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. _Earth is okay._ She held the words in her head, savoring them, letting them anchor her. Earth was okay. It hadn't all been for nothing. Earth was okay. She put a hand to her chest, a weird feeling, both loosening and tightening, hot and cold at the same time blossoming there.

"Um, lass? You there?"

Dawn blinked away tears, but unlike before they didn't feel so bad. _Commander Keyes… Sergeant Johnson… Chief… you did it._ "Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay." She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then composed herself with a deep breath. "Um, yeah. Your turn…?"

"Right. What's your real name? And don't tell me it's just Dawn."

The shopgirl's lips curled into a weary smile. "And I'm telling you it is, believe it or not. Well, technically, I'm Charon-class frigate FFG-201 UNSC Forward Unto Dawn — I'll thank you not to italicize it — but everyone just says Dawn. I know, I know, I sound worse than insane, and I don't know how to prove I'm not, but that's the honest truth."

"You see, that's why you never go for the back-alley chems. That shit'll scramble your head right quick." Iverson sighed — people did that a lot around Dawn — and made a sympathetic clucking noise, or at least something Dawn thought was sympathetic. The knowledge came quickly as her human mind asserted itself, but having all of three days worth of human experiences, half of them in a jail cell, made for a poor learning environment. "Come on, really? No way."

"Yes way."

"You're really sticking to this."

" _Yes!_ "

"Fine, fine. We'll come back to it. Your turn now."

Dawn considered her next question carefully, not knowing how many of these she'd get. After mulling it over for a few seconds, she slapped her forehead. "It's obvious, stupid," she muttered, then raised her voice. "Next question. What year is it?"

A full twenty seconds of silence reigned, during which Dawn thought she could hear Iverson roll her eyes. "You kidding me?"

"Nope."

A sigh filled with pain and misery. "It's 2585. My turn: what's your homeworld?"

 _Reyes-McLees shipyards, so…_ "Mars, technically?"

"Oh! Martian, are we? Which part?"

"The… orbital habs."

"Excellent. Finally, another Martian on this damned boat. We should talk some more, if you ever get out of there. Your turn now, what do you want to know?"

"Um…" Ask about the Covenant? But if Earth was still standing, chances are they weren't a huge factor, security wise. No, it was time she learned about that one word which seemed to carry so much pain and fear with it, that made her guards unconsciously grip their rifles when they said it. "Yeah. What are the Abyssals?"

Iverson was quiet for a full minute this time, and Dawn feared she'd finally given up on this obviously amnesiac prisoner — which, to be fair, wasn't too bad of a description, considering the thirty odd years of history she seemed to be missing. "The Abyssals, huh?" she finally said, softly. "Where to begin. Must've been… wow, eleven, twelve years ago? I think I was in sixth grade when the news broke. Another blasted alien invasion, but we didn't even get a Covie-style spiel this time. Abbies just showed up, smashed a fleet and burned Farpoint to the ground. They sort of look like Covies, too, but it's different enough that you really can't mistake them. As for anything more… well, all the details are classified, and any research is under lock and key. But there are some things ONI can't hide, like how their ships can scramble our sensors just by existing, how they can take half the energy of a MAC round and make it disappear." She sighed. "So to sum it up, another alien alliance bent on wiping us out for reasons unknown, immune to our weapons, that we know nothing about. They came out of the void and return to it when they're done, so we call them Abyssals."

After Iverson finished, Dawn realized her hands were trembling. It was the Covenant all over again, except even worse because these aliens didn't even give a reason. Was this her fate? Die in one war, wake up to another? What could she even do? She didn't _want_ to fight, not at all, but the fight always found her, one way or another. For a cold, scared heartbeat she wished she were dead again, but death was no guarantee of rest now, it seemed. "… God."

Iverson snorted. "If you find Him, let me know. Sure hasn't shown himself around lately." And then she fell silent.

In the ensuing quiet, Dawn suddenly noticed she could no longer hear the murmurs of the slipspace drive, or the whispers of slipspace as the ship slid through its folded dimensions, which had been a constant companion for two days now. She blinked and tilted her head, but the sounds didn't return. Hesitantly, she knocked against the door. "Excuse me? Can I ask one more thing?"

"Depends," Iverson replied. "Go ahead."

"Did we… did we jump out?"

Iverson snorted. "Yeah, hours ago."

"Well, can you tell me where we are?"

A brief silence reigned. "You stowed away without even knowing our destination?"

Dawn rolled her eyes but bit back a futile argument. "Humor me. I'm an idiot."

"Alright." She could _definitely_ hear the eye-roll in Iverson's voice. "Welcome to Reach, lass. I'd say enjoy the sights, but you'll be staying here, answering some more questions probably."

A second passed. Dawn blinked while she computed that information. She knew the meaning of each individual word, but when put together like that even her high-speed mainframe had some trouble parsing it. When it finally did, though, and something clicked inside her brain…

"Say where now?!"

* * *

Four days. It took four days to ensure _Scorpia_ 's reactor didn't melt down, to stop all the atmosphere and fuel leaks, to find all the bodies, cut away the damaged armor, and start her down the road to recovery. Four days of fighting tooth and nail to keep her out of the scrapyard, wondering if the old girl's time might really have come. Four sleepless days, on top of a week of nonstop combat, and Garcia could finally see a glimmer of rest and recovery on the horizon. He could send some messages, grab a bite of real food, breath fresh air, visit the Lábatlan nature preserves, get hammered at a shitty dive bar and wake up with a nuclear headache…

If not for the ONI agent sitting in front of him, listening impassively to Garcia's after action report. Why she couldn't just read the submitted written version he did not know, but he knew better than to refuse a visit from the Office of Naval Intelligence. At least, while the agent grilled him for all he knew, he could take some secret pride in his own private little intelligence operation.

Private Iverson's reports had been quite… interesting. No doubt it was the kind of stuff ONI would disapprove of him having… but what ONI didn't know — and that was precious little — wouldn't hurt them. The prisoner sitting in _Scorpia_ 's brig, Dawn, was apparently a sailor hailing from the Martian orbital complexes. A DNA sample, secretly taken off an MRE fork, and a search of public databases revealed no matches. In and of itself, that wasn't too unusual. Seedy Martian backstreets were home to many unregistered births. In addition, Iverson suspected, and Garcia frankly agreed, that she had suffered some sort of severe brain injury or gone insane, since she claimed to be the personification of the legendary frigate _Forward Unto Dawn_. That Dawn had initially claimed not to know the year, the status of Earth, or what the Abyssals were, reinforced that suspicion.

Further questioning revealed a distinct unfamiliarity with current cultural and technological trends, the history of the past thirty years, modern UNSC equipment, the works. The more Garcia read, the more confused he felt. Perfect recollection of things she couldn't have experienced, yet complete ignorance of very recent events. Yet that wasn't what bothered him the most. That honor belonged to the as-yet-unanswered question of _how the hell_ she'd managed to sneak on board _Scorpia_. There were no records, no footage, no reports of her coming on board, yet damage control teams had found her wandering the corridors, casual as could be. Unfortunately, Dawn insisted that she had no idea how she'd gotten on board, and without a PQI or interrogation drugs there was no way to force an answer out of her. Regretfully, Garcia turned his attention back to his present situation.

"… and that's my summary of the action." He finished his report in robotic monotone, careful not to look the ONI agent in her eye.

"Thank you, Captain." Garcia shifted uncomfortably in his too-small plastic folding chair and tried to keep his hands still in his lap. Across from him the agent made a note on her datapad, giving no sign of noticing his little trip down thinking lane. It was the most recent of dozens, maybe hundreds made over the past few hours. "Very helpful."

Hope rose in Garcia's stomach. "So are we done here, or—"

" _Wait_." The German came clipped and sharp. Irritation filed the agent's voice and she held up one hand. Garcia clamped shut his mouth like a chastised schoolchild, hope crawling back into his intestines to be digested and fuel a growing sense of weariness. "You naval types are always so impatient."

"… sorry."

"Very well." She tapped her stylus against the table and cleared her throat. "I want to ask you some more about this." She turned the data pad so he could read it and underlined a section of her neat, college-style Cornell notes. "This 'dreadnought'."

"What about it?" he asked warily, trying to figure out where he might have slipped up and given ONI, or worse, IntSec ammunition against him. "You have the combat recordings."

"They are near useless," she dismissed. "Utterly fragmented and contradictory! If their loss wasn't so systematic, I would call it gross incompetence."

She spat the last word and Garcia felt his spine involuntarily stiffen. "Listen here, spook, I am happy to cooperate, but I'm not sitting pretty while you accuse us of incompetence. We've lost too much for that!"

The agent exerted a visible effort to control herself. A thought struck Garcia — was she _new_ at this job? No veteran field agent he'd dealt with had ever displayed that much emotion. "My apologies. It was not my intention." She tapped the datapad again. "This 'dreadnought', as you called it, has been designated an Abyssal Z-Class. Examination of damage suffered by the 12th Fleet has determined a large part of its armament are made of conventional Abyssal weapons, like energy projectors and particle cannons. However, examination of battlenet records show that Battleship Division Nine was not hit by any of these weapons; rather, the sensor recordings gathered before their destruction indicate an entirely new type of weapon, something we're calling a mass-transferral beam."

Garcia pulled himself out of flashbacks to his tactical theory courses in OCS. "I'm sorry, a what-a-what now?"

The agent spread her hands. "Exactly what I'd like to know. We call it that because, as far as we can tell, that's exactly what it does. Structural records show no heating, like we'd expect from a energy weapon, or sudden hull stress followed by failure, like a kinetic weapon would cause. Minimal radiation too, except for increases correlated with reactor failure and a Cherenkov rise that we can attribute to a slipspace drive failing. All's well one moment, the next…" She snapped her fingers. "Half the ship is gone. Luckily for us it seems to only be able to target one ship at a time, and charging time increases exponentially with the mass of its target, but still."

"Holy shit."

"Precisely. Assuming basic physics hasn't been violated, the mass and matter must go somewhere. Therefore," she tapped the data pad again, "mass-transferral beam, for lack of a definite mechanism."

Garcia leaned back and took a deep breath. "Okay. That's a load of unfair bullcrap. But even if we knew what it was, what do you want me to tell you? I'm not a physicist."

"No, you definitely aren't. But…" The agent scrolled down a bit and underlined a new section. "You've already given me your impressions of the ship and its combat abilities. Typical invincible, unbalanced, overpowered alien tripe. This, though, is very interesting to me."

Craning his neck, Garcia squinted at her disjointed, compressed handwriting. "That's…"

Annoyance flickered across the agent's face. " _Mein Gott_ , my handwriting is _not that bad_."

"It really is," Garcia said beneath an exhale, but redoubled his efforts to prove his literacy. "Ah… what I reported feeling before we got slapped back to Reach?" He looked up. "Is ONI my counselor now?"

"In your nightmares." The agent sat back and brought her notes around to herself. "You reported a distinct feeling of uneasiness when first encountering the Z-class. Please provide an exact timeframe for this feeling."

Garcia tightened his jaw and forced himself to review his memories once more, in HD and with director commentary. "It was… right before that thing fired, and ended in… half a minute? Maybe one? I wasn't really looking at the time."

"Right before? I see. That does match up with other reports I've gathered. Please describe this feeling in more detail, beyond simple uneasiness."

"Do I have to?" The agent looked him in the eyes, sending shiver down his spine. "Okay, okay. Imagine… imagine the thing you're most afraid of. Something you would give literally anything to get away from. The monster tapping at your window, under your bed and in your closet." The agent gestured for him to get to the point. "Now imagine that thing surrounding you, like a cocoon. You can't escape it, because its hugging you. It's getting inside you so you can't speak or breathe, and the worst part is it's telling you that you haven't even seen a fraction of what if can do, and all you can do is curl up and pray it goes away."

He finished, feeling even more drained than before. The agent merely watched him with a sort of detached, clinical interest, adding to her notes in that efficient ONI way. "Interesting. Would you characterize this pressure as physical or mental?"

"Both."

" _Danke._ Logs provided by your ship's AI indicate no change in physical surroundings, so it must be an issue of mind over matter. We will, of course, pull physiological records of the incident."

"Of course you will." Garcia wasn't even fazed at the casual breach of privacy, not that there was much of a privacy law to breach nowadays, was there? "I hope they're helpful."

"Mm. Perhaps. In unusual times, unusual connections may occur…" The agent's voice grew distant and she stared at her data pad in an odd way. This lasted a moment before she came back to the present. "This topic is now closed." The agent's tone left Garcia no room to even hope that he was done. "Now I want to discuss the prisoner currently in custody aboard your ship."

He'd known this was coming, but that didn't keep him from gazing longingly at the door. "What about her?"

Sighing, the agent allowed a knot of frustration to furrow her thin eyebrows. "Kindly use 'it'. Tests conducted by our medical personnel—"

"Wait, those corpsmen were your people? And what do you mean 'it'? Isn't she human?"

"Obviously they were. And the tests… well, they're only conclusive about one thing." The agent folded her hands and looked Garcia in the eye, deadly serious. "It's not quite human. Captain, your prisoner might be an Abyssal infiltrator." She held the eye contact as if daring her interviewee to disagree.

His first instinct was, in fact, to protest, but Garcia didn't intend on falling into any more ONI traps than necessary. The downside was that he looked like an idiot, staring blankly while he processed and thought about the news, but the more he chewed it over… "That kind of makes sense. A rescue team found her in an empty storage room and said she was real cagey about how she got in there without a suit, especially since it was surrounded by vacuum."

The agents eyebrows rose a fraction of a millimeter. "You've got more critical thinking in you than I thought. Are you sure you went to OCS?" While Garcia tried to defend his alma mater, she tapped her data pad until it displayed a request for authentication. "These are instructions for you. They require your biometric authentication. Your DNA."

"I know what biometric authentication is," Garcia groused, pressing his finger to the data pads scanner. His finger registered a small prick as the device took a tiny blood sample before the lock blinked green and a simple text file filled the screen.

"Take your time to read through. An ONI kill team will board your ship to extract and, if necessary, terminate the prisoner. Your job…"

"Is to keep he-I mean, it in the dark, not get in your way, and not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Yadda, yadda, yadda, Everyone knows how this works." He signed and printed where the document required, finishing with a flourish to flaunt his superior penmanship. "Now, is that all?"

"This time, it is. One for three, not bad." The agent stood, giving Garcia his cue.

"A pleasure talking, Agent." He stuck his hand out to shake. His interviewer looked at it like it was a snake for a moment, and Garcia wondered if anyone outside of ONI had ever offered her a handshake before.

"Hmph." She reached out to take his hand. Right before they made contact though, Garcia shivered, a full body convulsion. The room temperature, already cool, had suddenly dropped at least 5 degrees. He withdrew his hand, trying to rub some feeling back into his arms and stop the growing sense of dread, and the agent looked at him strangely. "Are you alright?"

"I know this feeling. Oh, God, I know this feeling." He grabbed his radio and toggled the priority channel. "Bridge, sound general quarters! Abyssal incursion likely! This is not a drill, out!"

"Captain Garcia? What's going on? Do I need to call a corpsman?"

"No. No! They're going to be busy enough." He held out a placating hand and moved a step closer. "They're here. The Abyssals are here."

"How do you—" The agent's face paled and she grabbed the table to steady herself. "It's what you described, isn't it?"

"Yes. Listen. Agent— goddammit, what's your name?!"

"B-Berlin. Agent Berlin."

"Berlin. Listen. You're gonna feel like the world is ending in a few seconds. It kind of is, but you've got to keep it together, okay?" He cast about the room and pointed at a corner. "I suggest you sit there. Less chance of falling and hitting something."

"G-got it." She scrambled to obey, and Garcia concluded she really was a newbie. No real ONI agent would so readily listen to a line officer. Berlin settled into the corner, then looked about in confusion and apprehension. "So when is this going to—"

Past experience helped Garcia stay on his feet, but his vision still went spotty, his mind went numb, and he was pretty sure he crushed a dent into the table keeping himself steady. Staying conscious also let him just barely hear whispers at the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't exactly make out what they said, but they surely weren't anything pretty. In the corner, Berlin had gone as rigid as titanium-A3. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, almost bulging, and her lips formed words that had no sound. Shudders shook her up and down with regularity, and she was breathing so hard Garcia thought she might actually activate the emergency life support through oxygen depletion.

The pressure began to fade, the ringing in his ears following much too slow for Garcia's liking. Forcing flexibility back into his muscles, he moved to kneel in front of Berlin and placed his hands on her shoulders. The agent yelped, eyes snapping forwards, and Garcia found himself with a hardlight knife against his sternum. "What do you think you're _doing?!_ " she hissed.

"Oh, good, you're okay." He extracted himself gingerly, offering a hand. Putting her knife away, Berlin took it and Garcia pretended not to see her wipe away a tear. He was hardly in a position to criticize. "Are you okay?"

"O-of course." Her voice was shaky and the brusque tone forced, but Garcia didn't push it. "G-get in contact with your people, find out the situation!" she ordered, a bit too quickly.

Garcia moved to oblige, but his radio crackled first. He couldn't help feeling a surge of pride for his crew as a shaken but clear voice came through. They'd obviously felt the signs and braced themselves, and their recovery was markedly quicker than last time. " _Captain Garcia, enemy forces detected in-system, past the lunar perimeter. That big one is back for more! They're closing in, over._ "

"Fucking knew it." Ignoring the spook, Garcia toggled his radio. "I'm on my way. Prepare for action against boarding parties, out!" Looking back at Berlin, he said "Your attack dogs will have to find a kennel."

"How the hell are they here?! You said you followed the Cole Protocol!"

"I did! We all did! How in the blazes—" Garcia stopped with a snarl. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to defend my ship. You can come with me or make yourself useful somewhere else. Either way, we're done here." He stood and made for the door.

"Wait." Berlin hastily got up and jogged to his side. "Firsthand experience would be a good supplement for my report." She squared herself up and stuck out her chin, daring him to contradict her. "I'm coming with you."

Garcia couldn't help smiling. "My pleasure, Agent. Just shoot straight."

"Don't think for a second you're in charge of me!" The door opened and they jogged out into a hallway filled with soldiers, sailors and marines running forwards and backwards, shouting orders, donning gear, and handing out weapons, all while the klaxon blared general quarters and _Scorpia_ began shuddering with the vibration of weapons impacts against Turul's surface.

* * *

"Hey! Hey!" Dawn banged on her cell door. "Hey! What's going on out there?!" Through the tiny window, she could see flashes of people running back and forth, hauling an increasingly absurd and worrisome assortment of weaponry. She pressed an eye up against the transplast and tried again. "Hey! Can somebody please tell me wh-"

The door flew open. Dawn fell back on her butt with a startled gasp, scooting to the back of the cell with a startle gasp. A grim-faced marine stood in the doorway, pointing an assault rifle at her face. Slowly, Dawn raised her hands, palms out and open, and grinned a wobbly grin. "Hi there?"

"Up." The marine jerked her barrel upwards.

"Okay, okay. Don't shoot. Please." Keeping her hands up, Dawn slowly got to her feet and turned in a circle to show she was unarmed. "No weapons, see?"

The marine stepped into the cell and out of the doorway. She jerked his head to indicate Dawn should exit before her. Nodding furiously, she slid past and stood in the corridor outside with her back to the wall. The marine followed her without closing the door, not once taking her eyes off of Dawn, then moved to stand facing her. She stared at her for a moment longer, almost looking through her, causing Dawn to fidget uncomfortably.

"Can you handle a gun, lass?"

"Huh?" Dawn blinked. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Great." The marine pulled out her pistol and thrust it at Dawn, butt-first. Dawn eyed it warily, then took it gingerly with both hands. "You're on anti-boarding duty now. Come with me."

"Anti-boarding—hey, wait!" The marine turned and quick-marched away, leaving Dawn to scramble after her, tripping over feet she still wasn't quite used to using. "Wait! What's going on? What's your _name?!_ "

The marine slowed to a trot and looked over her shoulder. "You don't remember me?" Dawn shook her head, causing the marine to roll her eyes. "Private Iverson, dummy."

Dawn's eyes widened a fraction. "O-oh! I'm sorry, it's just—"

"Can it. Abbies were spotted past the lunar perimeter at 0320. Defenses immediately engaged but are suffering heavy casualties." Iverson stopped and turned, expression deadly serious. "The fact the fishheads are even humoring this rock with a fight means there's something on this moon they want. Something they've gotta get in person. And we're not gonna let them have it."

Dawn gulped and nodded. "Do we know what they want? Intel, a person, some ONI project?"

Iverson had a good laugh at that. "Lass, if we knew anything about what fishheads want for Christmas, we wouldn't be losing worse than if the Browns broke a mirror in front of a black cat on a native burial ground." She started walking again, quicker this time, leaving the hapless shipgirl to jog in her wake.

"Jesus, okay," she muttered. "And Abbies? Is that like Covies but for Abyssals?"

"Duh." They entered the central receiving area, now being filled with field consoles, radio sets, ammunition, weapons, and large portable titanium shields. Their design didn't seem much modified from Dawn's day, but her eyes caught the glimmer of energy shielding covering their matte surfaces.

"We have energy shields now?"

"We've had them for fifteen years. How—" Iverson cut herself off and saluted an officer who popped up from behind a radio set. "Lieutenant Armandez! Congrats on the promotion."

"Iverson. Welcome to _Scorpia_ defense HQ." Armandez looked behind him at Dawn, eyes sharp and appraising. "Is the prisoner cooperating?"

"She knows where to point the gun and to shoot at the ugliest bastard, so I just hope she doesn't nail Kenton."

"Hilarious. Shoot her if she starts looking funny. I'm putting you two on the visitor's entrance. Take one of the machine guns and get set up."

"Aye. Any news about the battle?"

The lieutenant looked up at Iverson and shook her head. "Not good. We just lost Battery Foxtrot and Battery G—" A heavy rumble shook the ship. "Well shoot, Golf _was_ under heavy attack."

"Dammit. That's, what, all of our orbital stations?" A glum nod confirmed this. "What about surface defenses?"

"The missile silos are Winchester, guns are off the air, heavy fighting around the civilian and commercial docks."

" _Dammit._ " Iverson kicked the wall in frustration. "Where is the fleet?!"

"On the other side of the planet, apparently. Maybe jerking off?"

"No." The marines turned around, surprised, at Dawn's interjection. Eyes closed and mouth a tight line, she shook her head. "They've already engaged." She could feel ships dying, crying out as fire, explosions, and the cold void snuffed out their crews. Every loss was like a small punch in the gut.

"Hey." Iverson's voice accompanied a hand on her shoulder, and Dawn realized a tear was snaking down her cheek. "You're not flaking out on us, are you?"

"No. No." She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "I'm good."

"Alright. Maybe that chill got you as well." The two marines unconsciously shivered at some shared memory. Dawn tilted her head in confusion, but went unnoticed. "Nothing compared to last time, thank God, but _damn_ that was unsettling."

"What chill…?" At that moment, the sounds of gunfire began echoing through the corridors and the radio, causing the three to jump. Armandez lunged for the receiver.

"Report! What's going on?!"

" _Engaging Abyssals at Docking Tubes One and Two! They've broken through station defenses and have heavy weapons!_ " The whoosh of a rocket emphasized the point. " _We'll hold as best we can, over!_ "

"Copy that! Iverson, get moving!"

"Aye! Let's move, lass! Grab that ammo!" Feeling woefully underarmed, Dawn followed Iverson as she grabbed a machine gun and dashed for the brig's two entry ways, going right at the fork. Picking up as many cases of ammunition as she could carry, Dawn paused to listen to a few of the reports coming through to Armandez. Abyssal landings all over the station, in all sectors, and attacking with unusual aggressiveness. What did that last part mean? "Lass!"

"Coming!" Dawn got to her position and dropped the ammo. "Where do you want this?"

Iverson did a small double take at how much she brought in one trip. "Three cases MG to me, three to Laughley, three to Lin. Distribute the rifle and shotgun ammo evenly." Dawn leapt to obey, leaving three boxes with Iverson, giving three to a marine poorly hiding a hangover, and handing the rest to a pale man who looked like he weighed less than his machine gun. Magazines of 7.62 and 8-gauge — it warmed Dawn's heart to see that some things didn't change — went out as well, and Dawn acquired four magazines worth of pistol ammo for herself. She found an empty spot behind a titanium shield and settled in, taking some small comfort in the hum of the energy shield.

"Shotguns, use ricochets to shred them! Frontline, take cover when the claymores go off!" Yelling advice, Laughley went around to each position, making sure nobody was in anyone's line of fire. "If there is a single blue-on-blue, I'll make you _wish_ the Abbies had got you!"

"Yes, Corporal!"

Anxiety ran thick in the air. Dawn checked and rechecked her pistol, and even bummed a cleaning kit from a charitable marine. She field-stripped and cleaned the weapon in two minutes, racking the slide back with a satisfying clack. The weight of the gun, hefty but well-balanced and easy to hold, reassured her. Her sharpshooting skills were less of a sure thing, but she only needed to put metal downrange, right?

Laughley's radio, keyed into the same circuit as the one back in the reception area, crackled. " _HQ, Delta Squad, they broke through Docking Tube One! They're going straight for you!_ "

" _What?! Delta Squad, come in! What's your status? Delta!_ " Armandez's voice came back in reply. " _This is HQ, Docking One is overrun, we need reinforcements!_ " The channel cut out with a curse. Armandez appeared in person a moment later, crouching down next to Laughley. "Dammit, all control points are under attack! We're on our own." Dawn saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, instantly smothered under steely determination. The lieutenant toggled her radio one last time. "This is it, no help coming! Check your zones, stay in cover! Fight smart, don't scare, and we'll get through this. Oorah!"

" _Oorah!_ "

Gunfire drew ever closer as the minutes passed. Laughley chewed an unlit cigarette. Iverson sipped some water, hands shaking so much she spilled more than she swallowed. Armandez disappeared to check on the other entrance, then reappeared with an assault rifle and a box of grenades. She handed those out, two per person, lingering by Dawn. "You alright?"

"Yeah, totally! Fine, fine, everything's fine."

"Hey, hey, don't worry. You're human, I'm human, even if you're our prisoner we're in this together, right?"

"… I guess. Thanks." Dawn tensed at the faint sound of approaching footsteps. "They're coming."

"Okay." Armandez slipped back into her position without question. "Prepare to fire on contact!" Bolts racked back, safeties snapped off, and marines stared down their sights, eyes focused and unblinking.

The first Abyssal Dawn ever saw was a decidedly unimpressive figure. Maybe three and a half feet high, stubby and stout, wearing midnight-blue, black and purple armor pieces over a bulky off-white bodysuit, one glowing-green eye exposed by its helmet. A nasty-looking little blaster was strapped to its right hand. The thing reminded her of a Grunt more than anything, and got two steps into the corridor before being aerated by a hail of gunfire.

Dawn cocked an eyebrow — another fun thing she could do now — as its body crumpled. She hadn't even had time to shoot. "Was that it?" she asked aloud. "Not that I'm complaining," she rushed to clarify when Iverson shot her an unamused look, "but the climax _really_ didn't fit the build up."

"Shut up," Laughley snapped. "Use your brain, something's not right."

Armandez nodded, tense. "You're right." She keyed her radio. "HQ, Abbies are up to something. Hold your fire, but stay in cover!"

A moment passed and another Abyssal, practically identical to the last one, walked into the corridor without so much as a glance at the blood and body cooling on the floor. It stopped in the middle and coolly regarded the human defenders, heedless their stares or of the row of automatic weaponry trained on its head.

"What's it doing?" Iverson whispered. Laughley shushed her with a hiss, thumb hovering over the trigger for the claymore mines. "Permission to shoot, sir?"

"Negative! Something's wrong." The Abyssal made sort of a jerky half-nod, followed an odd barking noise. There was a rustling noise, and a pair of Abyssals walked out. They towered over the first alien, maybe seven feet tall, armored much the same but in a sleeker fashion and carrying larger, longer, more powerful looking rifles. Their helmets completely enclosed their heads and they wore some strange apparatus on their backs, connected by a cable to a red optic on their helmets. One of them wore a red stripe on its helmet, the only apparent concession to individuality. Something tugged on Dawn's vision, and when she gave in and allowed her senses to sweep outwards she could make out faint tendrils of energy seeping from their bodies. Even a moment's glance at that level made her shiver with revulsion and hastily retreat, the foul and malevolent auras whispering at the edges of her mind. Strangely enough, none of the marines seemed to sense it — maybe they were just used to it.

A growl of anger emerged from the UNSC line as they saw what the Abyssals carried between them. A half-conscious sailor, ankles bound, bloodied and beaten. The Abyssals dropped him to the ground and forced him to his knees, prompting a groan of pain as one planted a foot in his back.

"Damn them. A prisoner? Abbies never take prisoners." Armandez narrowed her eyes. "Wait… what are they…?" The Abyssal with a red stripe snarled and shoved its rifle barrel against the man's head. He winced in pain but didn't cry out, then turned as best he could and fixed his captors with a withering glare.

"Alright, fuckers, I'm awake!" He spat on the ground, saliva mixing with blood from his lip. "You want me to talk? Lemme talk!"

Armandez called out, "Sailor! What did they do to you?" She risked poking her head above her cover. "What's your name?"

"Technician Ian Hauser, sarge." He licked a stream of blood away from his mouth before continuing. "They tore right through the aft docking tube, I think I'm the only survivor." A shadow flickered through his eyes, and Armandez knew that only adrenaline and shock factor were holding the man together. "They stuck some kind of… thing in my head, it lets me understand some of what they say, they want me to _translate_ for them," Hauser finished, shuddering in revulsion.

"Dear Lord," Iverson muttered, nervously ghosting her machine gun's trigger. "They want to talk. The devil must need a jacket." A few marines murmured agreement.

Armandez squinted at the Abyssals, who showed no signs of backing off. Dawn could see her trigger finger just barely trembling. The sergeant obviously wanted to blow the aliens away, but the gun against Hauser's head prevented that. In a twisted way, Dawn was happy about that. She couldn't pretend to be a master tactician by any means, but even she could see that only one side would walk away once the shooting started, and it wasn't the side wearing UNSC green. "Alright!" the sergeant said, "We'll hear them out. But if I think they're playing fast and loose…"

Relief and guilt colored Hauser's expression. "Thank you, sarge, thank you. Sorry for the trouble…"

"Don't be, just play along."

"Understood!" Hauser turned back to his captors. "Alright, you came to talk? Talk, I ain't got all day!" He spat at their feet for good measure, then turned back and nodded stiffly to Armandez.

Red Stripe turned its head as if to make eye contact with the sergeant, and Dawn shivered as the red optic passed over her position. The Abyssal then spoke in that growling, barking language, interspersed with random pauses and hisses. Hauser looked like he was having an aneurysm, but got the words out haltingly. "It says… it wants to make a… trade? Yeah. Trade me for… something."

Armandez cocked her head and frowned. "Alright. I'm listening."

Continuing, the Abyssal produced a series of hard clicks and growls. Confusion grew in Hauser's eyes and sweat beaded on his forehead. "Uh… it says we have a… cup? No, a vessel, yeah. A vessel, and it wants to trade it for me." The Abyssal continued, and his eyes met Dawn's. "He says… it belongs to them, and they will let us live if we hand it over."

"And where is this 'vessel'?" Armandez demanded impatiently.

"Um…" Dawn desperately wanted to look away as Hauser scanned the row of faces in front of him, but found herself frozen in place until his gaze met hers and he tilted his chin at her. "Right there, apparently. That one."

Dawn felt the air around her chill. Blood drained from her face and she instinctively raised her hands. "I-I have no idea what they're on about. Vessel? No, I don't know—"

"You're not telling us something." Laughley's machine gun twitched in Dawn's direction. "Why do they want you?"

 _I think I know, but you wouldn't believe me even if I told you._ "I swear, I don't know! I h-haven't done anything, really!"

"Excuse me if I don't buy it." Armandez's gaze was cold now, none of her previous warmth there. "A vessel? What for?" Dawn's chest was tightening again, and she knew that this was fear, real fear. She opened her mouth to defend herself but her throat was stuck, her tongue wouldn't move—

"She's a damned spy," someone murmured, and before Dawn could blink the murmur was taken up.

"Spy."

"Saboteur!"

"I had a feeling—"

"They can shapeshift!"

"Shoot her—"

"QUIET!" Laughley roared, though his expression remained hard and hostile. "Jesus Christ, your mouths are so open you'd think this was a cock-swallowing show! It's sarge's call."

"Thank you, corporal," Armandez replied, then asked, "Is it true?"

"A-ah…" Dawn swallowed and tried to speak, but the words kept catching. She looked around for any sign of sympathy, but the closest she got was Iverson, wearing a deep, contemplative frown. "Th-that's…"

"Well? I've got a ship's worth of people I'm trying to keep alive here, and if handing you over will do it, then…" Armandez waggled her hand back and forth, then jerked her thumb at the Abyssals. "And you're acting mighty strange for someone who's got nothing to hide."

Funny how things could go so wrong so quickly. Just a few minutes ago, all these cold eyes had been aimed at the enemy, and all this hate hadn't been aimed at her. Dawn's mind worked overtime trying to come up with a good defense, but where could she even begin? Oh, I'm the spirit of a warship from 30 years in the past, I somehow revived here and come on you can totally trust me? It sounded insane even to herself. But if she couldn't… well, she had a feeling that killing herself might be preferable to whatever the Abyssals had in store—

She nearly fell over when Iverson's hand landed on her shoulder. "Really, guys?" Iverson said, "Are we really listening to these alien bastards? You really think they'll just let us go if we do what they say? Come on, what is this, preschool?" Her grip tightened in a reassuring way. "And even if they did, are we so ready to sell one of our own to these alien bastards? I vote no."

"But," argued another marine, "they're trying to trade person for person, so she's obviously important to them. They don't want us to kill her before they can get her. And if she's that important to them, isn't it too dangerous to keep her around?"

"If she's so damn important to them, they can come and get her. Worst comes to worst we just shoot her in the head, but we sure as hell aren't just gonna give these fuckers a free lunch, are we? At that point, might as well just bend over and let 'em fuck us if we're so cheap!"

"I-Iverson…" Dawn whispered, breathing a sigh of relief and gratitude. All around her, marines and sailors blinked and looked at each other strangely. Armandez's eye twitched and she shook her head like she was clearing a fog out from around herself. When she looked back up, it was with a new light in her eyes.

"You're out of line, Iverson," she began, and for a moment Dawn feared the worst. "But you have a point." Armandez's mouth set into a thin line and she flicked the safety off of her rifle. "Hauser!"

The technician looked up, startled. "Yes sarge?"

"Do those alien bastards understand us, or do you have to translate for them?"

"I think they only understand if it comes through me."

"Well, tell them we've come to an arrangement," Armandez said, discreetly signaling for everyone to get into position. "Also, once you're done, hit the dirt."

Hauser's face paled, but he nodded his understanding. He repeated Armandez's words to the Abyssals, who seemed satisfied by the way they nodded. One of them let go of Hauser and stepped forwards to conduct the exchange, a hand outstretched to grab hold of Dawn. She watched it approach, staring at the gauntleted appendage, a small part of her wondering if, when push came to shove, the marines would really fight over a lowly prisoner—

"Now!" Armandez yelled, diving to the side as her rifle barked. The Abyssal's chest burst into a shower of gore as a burst of fire took its companion in the head. Hauser fell to the ground with a yelp of pain and two sailors dashed forwards to drag him back into cover. Iverson shoved Dawn behind an empty crate and let loose with her machine gun, as did Laughley and Lin, filling the air with steel and shredding the alien troops who charged into the wide corridor at the sound of gunfire.

After a moment the Abyssals began firing back. Despite initial heavy losses there were still a good baker's dozen of them, and their sheer weight of fire forced several marines to duck back into cover. A grenade exploded and sprayed lethal shrapnel everywhere. Sniper fire took one marine in the head before the sniper fell to the storms of buckshot ricocheting down the hallway, tearing apart anything in their path. Mines went off, bouncing ball bearings and flèchettes off the floor and walls, covering the floor in blood and filling the air with screams.

Unfazed by the screams or the streams of crystal fire passing over, next to, and shattering on their cover, Armandez and the other defenders combined accurate, efficient bursts of fire to drive the Abyssals back down the corridor and into cover. Someone yelled backblast and a rocket screamed downrange, curving around a corner and blasting gore and debris back the way it came. Someone fired some sort of multi-rocket launch system, peppering the Abyssals with micro-missiles and blanketing the battle in a pall of smoke. The aliens replied with some heavy weaponry of their own, and Lin had to abandon his machine gun when a plasma bomb turned it into a smoldering pile of slag.

Dawn stared wide-eyed at the chaos around her. Naval battles were one thing, this was… well, her only experience with ground combat was the secondhand stories her marine complement told. Seeing the blood and gore, the hairline difference between life and ugly, random death, it made the clinical, deliberate pace of a naval engagement seem like a video game in comparison. "Reloading!" Iverson yelled, tearing an empty ammo box away from her gun and slotting a fresh belt in. As the brass ejector rattled back to life, she turned to Dawn and shouted "Lass, I saved your life, least you could do is shoot back!"

"Oh!" Dawn snapped out of her trance and fumbled with her gun. She aimed down the sights but couldn't make out much through the haze of smoke and muzzle flashes, eventually resorting to blindly emptying her weapon at the closest flash she could see. The solid kick of the pistol made her feel better, like she was actually defending herself, and once she might have even hit something but then she was out of ammo and searching for a fresh magazine.

"Frag ou-arrgh!" A marine went down clutching his stomach and a live grenade rolled onto the floor. A shout of alarm went up before Laughley dove at the thing and hurled it down the corridor. It exploded in midair, and a stray fragment caught Laughley in the neck as he was standing back up. He went down with a curse, and the sudden loss of a machine gun emboldened the Abyssals to increase the pressure. One after another, marines and sailors caught bullets in the arm, the leg, the chest, the shoulder, each casualty giving the Abyssals just that much more room to move up, to put more fire on the remaining defenders, and with the amount of ammunition being thrown around it was guaranteed that something was going to stick.

"We're getting overwhelmed! We need to fall ba-ack!" Iverson reeled back as something sliced her cheek open, drenching the side of her face in blood. "Shit!" She attempted to get back on her gun, only to have a well-placed round blow a hole through her hand. "Fuck!" she screamed in pain, cradling her wound in agony and dropping into cover, leaving her machine gun silent.

"We can't run, we'll just get shot in the back!" Armandez shouted, dropping her depleted rifle in favor of a pistol. "We hold here!"

But they couldn't hold. Even Dawn could see that, with the little experience as she had. There were only so many marines, so many sailors, so much ammo, and there seemed to be no end to the Abyssals. She tried to take Iverson's place on the machine gun, but the Abyssals were now focusing fire on the heavy weapons and a bullet struck the bolt mechanism and put the gun out of commission. A feeling of helplessness threatened to overwhelm her, made all the worse by the fact that she knew she ought to be able to do something, to use the power she knew lay dormant within her, but she didn't know how to access it, to call it, to summon the weapons and armor and not just the spirit of the frigate she was—

"Hey!" Armandez was shaking her shoulders, trying to get her attention. "Can you hear me?!"

"Y-yes!"

"I need you to get to the radio and tell all positions that HQ is about to be overrun! They'll know what to do after that, but you need to tell them!"

"W-what about you?!"

"I need to stay here and lead my marines, now go! We'll cover you!" Armandez gave Dawn a rough shove and took her spot on the line. Dawn stumbled back, then turned and began to run for the radio, hiding her relief at being away from the fighting. Maybe, if she could hide somewhere, she could use the time to quickly figure out how to use her abilities, then come back and actually contribute. Her thoughts running, she picked up the pace, trying to stay low, and made it within five paces of the door before a round tore through her chest.

"Ah." Just like that, all the strength left her body. Dawn crumpled to her knees, coughing and choking. She heard Armandez curse loudly but no one came for her, and she didn't expect them to. What a bitter way to end a short, useless life, she thought as her arms gave out and her face met the floor. For some reason her consciousness wasn't fading out quite yet, but she figured that'd happen soon enough.

 _Useless. Pathetic. A second chance, and this is what you do with it?_ A voice which sounded remarkably like her own came clear and mockingly as if it was right next to her ear. After a second, Dawn realized it was coming from herself.

 _It wasn't… I tried my best!_ Dawn didn't know why she was arguing with a voice in her head, but something compelled her to anyway. _I just couldn't… I didn't know how…_

 _So you're just gonna die here, then? Looks like you don't really want to protect anyone, or you'd make a greater effort._

 _No! I do! I'm just… too weak…_

 _Damn right you are. At least you're honest._

 _Please… I just… tell me how I can protect them… I don't want to lose this chance…_ A reply didn't come for a second and Dawn was afraid the voice wouldn't speak again. She didn't want to die alone.

 _You're an idiot, you know that? You don't have to fight anymore. You've earned a break._

 _I know, but… I was made to. I swore to. I_ want _to._

 _…Heh._ The laugh was still sardonic, but with the slightest tinge of rueful admiration. _You're an even bigger idiot than you appear. But an honest idiot, and sometimes an idiot is just what's needed. You're sure you want to do this?_ A hint of hesitation entered the voice on that last sentence.

To be honest, Dawn wasn't sure she really did. After years of fighting the Covenant, another war _really_ didn't appeal to her. Just closing her eyes, letting go, and not putting up with this shithole of a galaxy any longer sounded quite nice. But…she also wanted to _live_ , to see what life, real life, had to offer. She wanted to taste food, to read a book, to walk on the surface of a planet and breathe fresh air. She wanted to walk among the people she fought for, bled for, died for, because fighting for the UNSC, for humanity, was the only thing she'd ever known, the only purpose she'd ever had. And, more than anything, she knew that those people had suffered enough — if she could do anything to ease their pain, to keep them safe… well, in that moment, she couldn't really imagine doing anything else.

 _Yes. I am._

 _Suit yourself. I've unlocked your powers — the rest is up to you. Good luck. I'll be watching with great interest~._

The voice fell silent, and with a gasp Dawn was drawn back to the present. Judging by the clamor around her, not even twenty seconds had passed. But in those twenty seconds, a strange new energy suffused her limbs, filling her with a new strength. Shakily, she pulled herself up to her knees, then looked down at the bloody hole in her chest, now filled with a small, pulsing pinprick of light. Trembling, she reached in with her fingers, took hold of the light, and with all her strength crushed it until it shattered into uncountable shimmering sparks.

She saw her own blood spilling out into her hands.

She felt a bolt of pain, hot and piercing.

Her vision turned white, and something deep inside snapped.

SYSTEMS BOOT

BOOT OS .N.6.7.2549… DONE

A piece of shrapnel left a deep scar in Laughley's armor as he popped up to fire his assault rifle, desperately trying to hold back the Abyssal wave. Armandez started to shout his name, but stopped as a low-pitched hum filled the space around her with an oppressive drone.

SYSTEMS CHECK

REACTOR… ONLINE

"What the hell is that noise?!" she yelled, and Laughley shrugged in hopeless confusion. Not wanting to take a chance, she began to order a retreat.

PROPULSION… ONLINE

SLIPSPACE… ONLINE

A flash of light from behind drew her attention. Armandez turned to see the prisoner, Dawn, on her knees, blood dripping from the wound in her torso, with a soft silver light emanating from her body. The drone also appeared to be coming from her, and Armandez could only muster a bewildered, "What?"

SENSORS… ONLINE

WEAPONS… ONLINE

"What the bloody hell's going on?!" screamed a marine, overcome by a mixture of pain, fear, and battle madness. Armandez could only shake her head, and she noticed that somewhere down the line everyone, even the Abyssals, had stopped firing and that the aliens' body language now resembled something like… fear.

SYSTEMS CHECK… DONE

ALL SYSTEMS… ONLINE

The light grew to a blinding intensity and the drone reached a fever pitch. Armandez couldn't hear herself think, but yelled for everyone to get down and threw herself flat on the ground just as the Abyssals opened fire with a fury she'd never seen before. Their shots all flew towards Dawn just as the light pulsed outwards and the space around her seemed to shatter.

FFG-201 FORWARD UNTO DAWN… ONLINE

WELCOME BACK

* * *

"Cover right, falling back!"

"Understood, covering right! Frag out!"

Wiping sweat out of his eyes and fear out of his brain, Garcia poked his head and borrowed rifle up over his crate and let loose on full auto. Recoil ruined his aim but the bullets still forced an Abyssal to duck back into cover and silence its machine gun. A well-placed grenade made sure it stayed there. The lull in fire provided a squad of marines the opportunity to disengage from their increasingly unhealthy position, retreating back up the corridor towards greener pastures.

"Much obliged, sir!" A machine gun let loose, stitching a red line across three Abyssals unlucky enough to choose that moment to break cover. Combined with a fresh volley of grenades, it persuaded the rest of them to pull back to a less exposed position. A scattering of smoke grenades and rifle fire covered the aliens' retreat.

The pullback on both sides left the no-man's-corridor in between pockmarked with bullet holes and plasma burns, scarred by grenades and littered with shell casings, abandoned cover and bodies. The lull allowed a marine to call out, "Is anyone wounded?"

A sailor, huddled against a storage crate with his hands clamped around his calf, groaned a reply. "Ah… my leg's hit bad."

A corpsman immediately rushed over and pried his hands away. "Let me see," she ordered, and shone a light on the wound. "Oh, damn." Blood trickled from a ragged hole left by a ricocheting crystal round. "No exit wound. Okay, I'm going to try to get the bullet out and give you some painkillers and stop the blood loss. Is your leg numb?"

"No, it hurts like a mother _fucker!_ " The sailor yelped the last part as the corpsman jabbed him with a hypo full of anesthetic and poked a pair of tweezers into the wound. "Son of a _bitch!_ " he hissed, trying to relax and let the painkiller take hold.

"Hold _still!_ " The corpsman moved the tweezers around, then drew out a bloody shard of crystal. She cast it to the ground and ground it to dust beneath her boot, then peered into the wound. "No burns." She looked up and made eye contact with the sailor, eyebrows furrowing. "Those fragments should have cooked any organic matter they stuck in. You got damn lucky."

"Well whoop-de-doo, can I get a fuckin' bandage now?"

Lieutenant Wyatt, the highest-ranking surviving marine, made his way to Garcia's side. Chancing a glance over the portable shield they huddled behind, he whispered, "Captain, something's up. Abbies never give up this much pressure if they're not planning something."

"Oh yeah?" Garcia knew he was being rude, but frankly he was exhausted, scared, and _goddammit_ where was Berlin? He needed to have someone make sure she wasn't sabotaging the reactor or purging the computers or whatever an ONI field agent did in their spare time. "Like what, lieutenant?"

The marine shrugged helplessly. "Don't know. Tube One got overrun, so they could be fixing to hit us from the rear, but nobody's reported anything coming this way. Maybe they're bringing in some heavy weapons. Hell," he said, chuckling mirthlessly, "maybe they're retreating."

Garcia snorted. "Yeah, and maybe I'm a Spartan. Make sure everyone's got ammo, I've a feeling this is temporary." Wyatt nodded and grabbed another marine to help distribute the remaining ammunition. With Abyssals loose in the ship, it was too risky to make a trip to the armory, so they were stuck with what they had. Garcia then remembered to reload his own rifle and count his remaining magazines. Three full thirty-two round magazines remained for him, as well as two partially filled. It wasn't a lot, but if he aimed well and didn't choke the trigger, it would be enough.

Or so he hoped, and that hope wilted a bit when a fistful of grenades came rolling down the corridor. Garcia shouted a warning and ducked, avoiding the shrapnel and popping up just in time to see the Abyssals charging again, weapons blazing and swords drawn and one bearing down directly on him—

The Abyssal crumpled, a bloody mist spraying out of two neat holes in its helmet. Garcia whirled around as Agent Berlin slid into cover beside him, bandoliers and a bulky ammo box slung over her shoulders and dual-wielding pistols. "'Lo, Captain," she said, "hope I'm not too late." She kicked the box over to a machine gunner, then poked her head up and emptied her guns down the hallway. "There's rifle ammo in this belt, and I've some — _Scheiße, that was close! —_ grenades on me somewhere—"

"We were wondering where you'd got to." Garcia slapped a fresh magazine in and drove an Abyssal into the open with enfilade fire, where a marine brought it down. "Did you run into trouble?"

"No, actually, the corridors had signs of fighting but I didn't encounter anyone." She peered at Garcia suspiciously. "You didn't order a retreat, did you?"

"Haven't had the time." Sweat rolled down Garcia's forehead, dripping into his eyes. He didn't dare take a hand off his rifle to wipe it away. The Abyssals were steadily advancing despite the torrents of steel pouring into them. Weight of numbers and skilled use of cover prevented the defenders from dropping enough, and even as Garcia fired another marine went down with a scream, left hand flying to an arm that was no longer there.

The sudden decrease in fire was enough for the aliens to intensify their attack. They charged with maddened abandon, with even less regard for their own lives than they usually had, as if a great force was spurring them on. Not even the veteran marines holding the line had faced such individual intensity and soon the Abyssals were swarming over the barricades, fighting hand-to-hand in desperate melee. Berlin disappeared under a dog pile of three aliens, yelling in German and slashing with a combat knife. Wyatt backed up against the wall, jabbing his bayonet in quick, efficient thrusts. Garcia found himself knocked to the floor, pistol skidding away, and fighting for leverage with a massive Abyssal. He wrestled with all his strength to keep it from shattering his skull like a watermelon, locked in a life and death struggle while the alien's weight kept him from wriggling out and its concealed face hung merely inches away from his own.

Suddenly, a crack like a railgun discharge sounded out, and the weight disappeared. The Abyssal dropped dead, jaw shattered and head twisted around in a way heads were not supposed to twist around. Above it stood a sailor, arm extended and breathing heavily with exertion. Guns fell silent, the sheer force behind that megaton punch making both sides stop and stare in disbelief for a long moment.

"Alright there?" She turned around, bent down and offered her hand to Garcia. An awkward second passed, his shock preventing Garcia from properly noticing it in favor of looking at her uniform, obscenely pristine despite the destruction which surrounded them. "Hey, your eyes are gonna pop out like that."

"Oh. Uh, sorry." He took her hand and she hauled him up, giving him a once over as she did. "Um, who are you?"

His savior coughed and turned slightly red at her ears. "Right, sorry. I'm—"

The Abyssals snapped out of their funk and opened fire en masse. Moving almost too fast to see, the sailor shoved Garcia down behind her, crossing her arms in front of her face and shielding him with her body. The sound of crystals hitting flesh drew a grimace onto Garcia's expression, and he braced himself for the feeling of blood soaking into his uniform and of a body slumping over—

"Whoa there." The UNSC line collectively gasped. Several sailors swore, a few marines muttered prayers and crossed themselves. Garcia turned slowly and looked up at an unbelievable sight. The sailor, still standing, looking no worse for the wear other for rips in her uniform. "You messed up my outfit!" Garcia couldn't see her face, but the casual menace in her voice provided fuel enough for his imagination. "You're gonna pay for that." She flicked her wrist, and space literally bent and twisted in her fingers. Light gathered in her palm, so bright that it forced Garcia to look away and shield his eyes, and coalesced into a SAW. She gave the drum magazine an experimental spin and cocked it, then cradled it by her hip.

The Abyssals panicked and broke cover, firing behind them as they fled back towards their boarding pod. They made it perhaps twenty feet before a hail of bullets cut them down, their screams drowned out in the monstrous roar of the SAW. The sailor — no, Garcia decided, she wasn't a sailor, if anything she was one of those vengeful angels from his _abuelo_ 's stories — swept the machine gun back and forth, not stopping until every Abyssal was on the floor and expending at least three times as many bullets as the magazine could possibly hold. She waited a moment, sighed and tossed the machine gun over her shoulder where it disappeared in a shower of blue sparks. Then she turned around, smiling pleasantly, and every human in front of her comically dove behind cover, leaving Garcia the only one in the open. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"I—uh—ah—" Garcia rebooted his brain and rolled his tongue back into his mouth. "Wh-who—what are you?!"

"Oh, right! Ahem." Garcia blinked and she was suddenly at attention, rendering him a textbook perfect salute. He made eye contact, and those swirling, plasma blue irises quite nearly mesmerized him. "FFG-201, Charon-class frigate UNSC Forward Unto Dawn, blah blah boring stuff reporting for action, sir!" Then she winked, and all Garcia could think was something that could probably arm wrestle an ODST with her pinky had no right to that innocent of an expression. "But you can just call me Dawn."


	3. Chapter 3

" _This is_ Jutland, _Hostile Charlie-19 hit with two torpedoes. It's venting atmosphere, appears unmaneuverable, over._ "

"St. Petersburg _requesting support. I'm under fire from several hostiles, over._ "

" _This is_ Rokossovky _, abandoning ship and requesting pick up for lifeboats—_ "

" _CruDiv 3 is not responding to comms, over._ "

"All units, fall back to secondary perimeter at time T plus five. Repeat, withdraw to secondary perimeter at time T plus five. _Peregrine_ , _Condor,_ fall back immediately and assist _Rokossovky,_ over."

UNSC ships fell back, rank by rank, as the skies over Reach pulsed with fire. In their wake floated a trail of debris comprised of hundreds of destroyed vessels, UNSC and Abyssal alike, the remnants of either a relentless pursuit or a desperate, running delaying action depending on one's perspective. The sudden appearance of just over a thousand Abyssal warships had left no time to organize a counterattack; hell, it was only through the efforts of Turul's static defenses that the Abyssals were held up long enough for the mobile units to regroup. Now, though, the moon's guns were silent, and it was all the fleet could do to maintain its battleline in the face of enough firepower to crack a planet clean in half. Retreat was embarrassing and dangerous, but the alternative was to be crushed where they stood, and a dead ship cannot shoot.

Admiral Thomas Lasky steadied himself against a console as _Infinity_ shook from a salvo of battleship main battery rounds. The rounds crashed into six meters of heavily angled armor, blasting away tons of metal in a flash of released kinetic energy. When the flash and debris cleared, _Infinity_ 's armor sported a fresh, deep gouge, but held together while her shields rebuilt.

That didn't make it any less rattling. The CIC was buried deep within her citadel, but each penetration made it a little harder to maintain confidence in _Infinity'_ s plating. Energy projectors seared away at her sides while pulse laser arrays burned steadily through heavy ablative plating. A constant torrent of kinetic rounds either bounced off or smashed straight through her broadside while her point defense suite fended off a swarm of missiles and plasma torpedoes, sheathing her in a halo of metal and fire while she heaved her bulk through a turn.

"Splinter damage to MAC loading equipment, five secondary power lines cut. Estimate ten minutes to repair. Firing mechanisms are operable."

"Shields restored to eighty-four percent."

"Understood. Complete our maneuver and angle against incoming fire, eight degrees starboard offset from hostile formation Alpha." Captain Henry Shen, _Infinity_ 's CO, glanced over through the plastic of his vacuum mask at Lasky. "Admiral, _Infinity_ is on station."

"Understood." _Infinity_ 's engines brought her to a bow-on position, menacing the Abyssal fleet with her main battery while other ships finished maneuvering into their new stations. Her energy projectors fired, spearing an Abyssal frigate at 50,000 kilometers and cutting its attack on battleship _Gabriel_ short. The battleship returned the favor, using her three MACs to blow the bow off of a cruiser while hostile energy projectors dissipated fruitlessly against her powerful frontal shields. "All units, on completion of current maneuver assume formation Delta-Three, orient on _Infinity._ "

Roland materialized on a nearby holotank, pilot's helmet askew. " _Admiral, I can't get through to HIGHCOM. Permission to dispatch_ Cormorant _as messenger?_ "

"Granted. Detach CruDiv Five to cover her." Lasky manipulated the battlespace display, turning it to get a better angle on the action. "Roland, any signal from the Turul beacon? Those surface batteries could put a serious dent in the Abbies."

" _Negative, moon's still dark. Haven't heard a peep or seen a shot fired in… fifty minutes._ " Roland sighed and rubbed his temples. " _A fleet transport landed on that rock. Anyone still alive is hiding in a deep, dark corner._ "

"Thank you, Roland." Lasky studied the display for another moment, then tapped several UNSC subformations. "Let's shake this up. DesDiv Eight and Four, CruDiv Six and Seven, BattDiv Three, form Task Group Bravo. Perform a dark burn towards Sector B5A and flank the enemy." The powerful task force immediately responded, turning and lighting their main propulsion as one. Their course would take them wide around battlespace, giving them a commanding angle from which they could hammer the Abyssals in their flanks. "Prepare to execute a De Grasse Switch in coordination with _Enterprise_. _Enterprise,_ prepare to deploy torpedo bombers."

" _Acknowledged, Admiral. On your command, over_."

"Very well. All other units, concentrate fire on Hostile Formation Delta, over."

Roland arched an eyebrow. " _Ballsy. You know, if this goes wrong, Bravo is dead._ "

"Very helpful Roland," Lasky growled, "now give me—"

" _Already done._ " A timer appeared on the display, counting down the seconds until Lasky needed to order the maneuver. " _It's a close shave, but possible._ "

"That's all I need."

"MAC online! MAC loaded!"

"Projectors charged."

Captain Shen rose from his chair. "Fire!"

 _Infinity_ belched fire and light, firing MACs and energy projectors in salvo at an Abyssal battleship. The majority of the salvo dispersed wide as the fire control systems refused to acquire a solid lock, but together with rounds from battleships _Vulcan, Ea_ , and their accompanying divisions, more than enough hit to tear the tough alien vessel apart like a pack of wolves traveling at a significant fraction of the speed of light. Even Abyssal armor and shields couldn't hold up under the fire of dozens of ships at once, though they did their damnedest as seven other ships exploded, graced by the merciless fire of System Fleet Eridani. In the rear, Reach's ODPs hammered away nonstop, sending a deluge of 4000-ton slugs raining down upon the Abyssal fleet, forcing them into evasive maneuvers and preventing them from getting shots on withdrawing UNSC ships.

Just because they were retreating, though, didn't mean the rest of the fleet couldn't bite back. Magnetic impellers hurled missiles from the fleet's silos, wave after wave of them forming a thick, angry cloud which hurtled towards the Abyssals atop the blue flame of fusion drives. Sheets of plasma bolts and pulse lasers flickered through the gaps accompanied by railgun rounds from secondary batteries. Energy projectors, those which could be aimed rearwards, unleashed carefully shaped and guided maelstroms of brilliant plasma, and this barrage slammed into alien ships still reeling from repeated main battery hits. When the smoke and debris cleared, the Abyssals had lost another ten ships, scrambling to rebuild their formation while corvettes, drones and piloted bombers darted to and fro and lobbed ordnance into their ranks.

If the closest approximation to the fist of God that the UNSC could deliver had rattled Abyssal gunners, they unfortunately didn't show it. Return fire tore through the smoke with accuracy Lasky could only envy, striking _Infinity_ 's shields and penetrating in a couple of spots, most glancing off her armor. Other ships weren't so lucky. First to go were a pair of frigates, wiped out by energy projector crossfire. An obscenely large kinetic round crumpled UNSC _Maximilian Kopev_ like a soda can. _Michael Cabot_ and _Sarah Akane_ threw themselves into sharp evasive maneuvers, but the throng of missiles following them stayed on target and turned them into smoldering wrecks. Pinpoint salvos tore _Green Glass Sea_ , _Utopia_ , and the rest of Cruiser Division Two apart in the blink of an eye, too fast for their crews to even scream.

Lasky gritted his teeth as the casualty lists flowed in. A bloody nose in exchange for a black eye. "All units reporting critical status, retreat and repair. All other units, assume formation Delta-One at time t plus five, mark, over." As the reports crystallized and Lasky got a good look at the damage to both sides, his heart sank. The Abyssals were hurting, yes, but they'd exacted their pound of flesh and the aliens had quite a bit more meat to spare than the UNSC. "Concentrate fire on enemy formation Alpha, fire when able."

There was a lull in the battle as both fleets licked their wounds and reloaded. The remainder of the fleet completed their withdrawal and settled back into positions, staring the Abyssal horde down across thousands of kilometers of space, and Lasky used the opportunity to check Task Force Bravo's progress. Unnoticed in the fighting, propulsion silent and trusting their course to Newton, the small detachment took up a flanking position. Maintaining radio silence, the formation did not signal success, but Lasky knew the division commanders personally and knew they would be ready. The plan seemed to be working, the Abyssals too distracted by the tavern brawl in front to notice the stiletto about to plunge into their sides.

 _A little too generous there, Tom. More like a pair of safety scissors than anything._ Smiling wryly, he glanced at the still-running timer, than gave the go-ahead. "Task Force Bravo, commence your attack."

The Abyssals noticed the task force the instant they opened fire. Rapid-fire MAC rounds made up for in numbers what they couldn't in precision, eviscerating a destroyer group then moving onto a frigate pack with similar results. Salvo after salvo worked over light Abyssal units, metal and energy breaking shields and penetrating armor through sheer weight of ordnance. A light cruiser exploded in the middle of a turn, prompting a shout of delight from _Infinity's_ bridge crew. Lasky nodded in satisfaction.

"Nicely planned, Admiral," Captain Shen complimented. Lasky nodded tersely, watching and waiting for any sign of response even as the fire moved onto a battleship, raking its outer hull and battering it down through sheer weight of ordnance. "Although — damage control, put the fire out! Come to one-tenth forward thrust, bow up five degrees, initiate reload cycle on aft point defenses — I hope _Enterprise_ has enough firepower for the second half."

"Even the Abyssals fear our torpedoes at close range," Lasky assured him, "and Captain Nomura's pilots have pulled off tighter jumps than this."

"As you say, sir." As several Abyssal formations turned to face the new threat on their flank, _Infinity_ trained her main battery on a heavy cruiser being subjected to withering fire from DesDivs Four and Eight. Half of the salvo missed, a last-minute distortion in the fire control solution scattering two shots wide, but with its entire shield capacity focused on absorbing the energy hitting its bow, the ship had roughly zero chance of surviving the other two shells that entered its port side and carried its reactor out the starboard. "Cease fire, new target Delta-Ten."

"Yes sir!"

Another alarm started up, though with the constant ringing and blaring on the bridge Lasky wondered if it had ever stopped in the first place. "Incoming missiles, detecting high-yield nuclear payloads. Retasking point defenses now."

"Status on our EW suite!" Shen demanded.

" _Electronic countermeasures are fully deployed,_ " Roland responded, appearing on a nearby holotank. " _For your information, while you weren't looking I convinced a good part of the inbound missile hive that there were some juicy targets about a thousand light years above the galactic plane, and another few hundred or thousand missiles received self-destruct instructions which, whoops, they didn't bother to authenticate._ " He shrugged and did a small half-bow. " _And the crowd goes mild._ "

"Thank you, Roland. Keep up the pressure, and keep trying to infiltrate their battlenet. There must be a weakness there."

" _Will do, sir. By the way, TF Bravo reports that the enemy is engaging them in force. Right on schedule, it seems,_ " Roland finished, glancing up at the timer still running on the main display. " _You might want to get on that._ "

Mentally berating himself for losing situational awareness, Lasky whipped his head back towards the battlespace projection dominating the center of the bridge. Tired of the thorn in their side, the Abyssals were redeploying a significant portion of their forces to crush the small squadron. The fleet's sensors registered energy spikes corresponding to charging slipspace drives throughout the Abyssal battleline, indicating that they were preparing to make a precision jump. "Get me _Enterprise_ ," he ordered the comms officer. After a moment and a nod, he continued. "Captain Nomura, are your squadrons ready?"

" _All squadrons are launched and ready to jump, sir._ "

"Understood. _Enterprise_ , TF Bravo, prepare to execute the maneuver on my command. All other units, intensify fire on enemy formation Charlie. Keep their attention on us!" Sweat beaded on Lasky's brow — timed right, his strategy could leave a good portion of the Abyssal fleet as irradiated dust. Timed wrong, and he had just signed the death warrant for dozens of pilots and warships. Status reports showed that every ship in the task force had its slipspace capacitors charged, carefully maneuvering to secure clear jump vectors. _Wait for it… wait for it…_

"Cherenkov spikes, enemy units are initiating precision jumps." With Mark 4 Jump Interdiction Beacons — slipspace jammers — in place in regular intervals in low Reach orbit, the Abyssals could not be aiming for a crippling strike to the fleet's rear. They could only be going one place.

 _Just as planned._ "Bravo, _Enterprise_ , immediate execute De Grasse Switch!"

The battered ships of Task Force Bravo needed no further encouragement. Already wildly maneuvering to avoid fire, it was trivial for them to throw themselves through slip space ruptures, just as even more portals turned the space they occupied into a massive clusterfuck of space-time distortion. Four Abyssal cruiser divisions and a battleship division emerged, determined to crush the irritating humans with overwhelming force. However, blinded by their transit, they did not realize their targets had just barely given them the slip, and in the place of flat-footed warships the alien vessels found a swarm of bombers buzzing angrily around them. Their bloodlust turned quickly to dread as they analyzed the energy signatures emanating from within the UNSC weapon bays, and then to panic as the swarm paused for the barest of instants, almost like it was regarding the predators-turned-prey caught in its midst, then fell inwards with a cloud of furious wasps.

" _Successful jump. Commencing attack now, over._ "

Point defenses barely had time to acquire targets before the strike craft formed their squadrons and entered attack runs. There were thirty squadrons, each comprised of six bombers, one human-piloted and five drones, covering forty-seven Abyssal ships. Even the most skilled pilot would have balked at the raw volume of point defense fire present, but for the networked AI cooperating with the human squadron leaders to direct the strike it was only a somewhat thorny math problem. Recognizing that not every ship could be hit, targeting protocols picked out priority targets as the nimble single-ships wove through flak fields, micro-missiles, scything pulse lasers and plasma fire as dense as anything the Covenant had ever produced. Losses mounted as the bombers pressed the attack home, but without fighter cover of their own and up against the overwhelming electronic warfare capabilities of the fleet's AIs the Abyssals could not shoot down more than one or two per squadron of the constantly and erratically maneuvering strike craft.

Close enough to the point where the sheer bulk of the Abyssal ships interfered with their own fields of fire, weapons bays opened and payloads began falling. First were clusters of EMP devices, exploding in storms of electromagnetic fury which disrupted the particle matrix and caused portions of the field to fall amidst arcs of crackling electricity. The localized disruptions were regenerated within seconds, but seconds were all that were needed for the second phase of the attack to hit. The loadouts of the squadrons were divided for redundancy — each craft carried EMP warheads as well as two torpedoes. These were not small affairs meant for raiding commercial shipping. Each torpedo was identical to the ones found in the silos and launchers of UNSC frigates and corvettes, the ones which had savaged Abyssal capital ships in the skies of Roseport. Launched right behind the EMP warheads, the torpedoes slipped in through the gaps in they created, and as the bombers fled for _Enterprise'_ s slipspace ruptures amidst a vengeful hail of point defense fire they hit home.

Embedded in the core of each torpedo was a tiny, unassuming crystal which pulsated with an eerie blue light. They were poor imitations of the slipspace shards used by the Forerunners in their translight engines; by comparison, as black powder was to C-7 explosive —incredibly crude, highly unstable, but good enough for what they were designed for. With the help of an intense burst of x-ray radiation, the unstable crystal generated a highly unstable, irregular slipspace rupture which didn't damage anything it touched so much as bypass armor and internal shielding to shunt whatever happened to be within its reach into the endless void of slipspace, to be spat out in some distant forgotten corner of the universe. Oversized fusion drives pushed the torpedoes past the minimum range of Abyssal point defenses within the blink of an eye, and in seconds six Abyssal battleships and eighteen cruisers were reduced to nothing but drifting hunks of metal with gaping wounds as if some giant cosmic dragon had decided to take a few bites out of them.

"Enterprise _, attack successful. Strike craft returning to base._ "

"Excellent work, _Enterprise._ Continue to conduct standard strike and interdiction ops." Lasky nodded in satisfaction as the bridge crew gave up a cheer. "All forces, concentrate fire on the remaining enemy forces in Sector B5A. Destroy them before they recharge their slipspace drives!"

" _What's Abyssal for 'ouch'?_ " Roland asked as _Infinity_ unloaded her guns on the disoriented survivors of _Enterprise_ 's bombers. " _If I were them, I'd be having second thoughts._ "

"I hope so," Lasky replied, anxiously studying the display. Indeed, the Abyssal fleet appeared to pull back just a bit, no longer sending out as many probing frigate and fighter squadrons or advancing its battleships and cruisers. For the time being, they seemed content to just sit at range and lob rounds, and Lasky was perfectly happy to let them do so. At this range their accuracy was questionable at best, especially since the UNSC formation left room for evasive maneuvers. Of course, thanks to Abyssal sensor blurring UNSC precision was downright atrocious, a full fleet salvo scoring maybe three or four dozen hits, but he didn't care about inflicting damage so much as drawing out the fight, buying as much time as possible for the evacuations. "Roland, how many of our forces are currently engaged?"

" _All divisions are actively engaged. No word on reinforcements either, HIGHCOM is still on lunch break._ "

"Understood," Lasky said, gritting his teeth as missile spam overwhelmed an isolated destroyer division and they disappeared from the display. "All units, check your separations and maintain point defense overlap! Roland, time to evacuation completion?"

" _Evac command reports another twelve hours to get all ships away._ "

"So we're stuck in for that long…" Lasky nodded his thanks and turned back to the display, shuffling around his formation to give the more beleaguered ships breathing room. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered, just loud enough for Roland to hear.

" _Credit for your thoughts, sir_?"

"Look," he replied, pointing at the red blob of the Abyssal fleet. "They outnumber us two to one. It's taking all we have just to hold them back. If they really push they could overrun us, so why haven't they…?"

Roland looked thoughtful, tapping one finger against his holographic chin. " _Well, they did hit Turul before moving onto us, and their line is still anchored there._ " He gestured to the moon in question, colored the deep red of 'overrun'. " _Maybe they're looking for something there and can't afford to concentrate their full attention on us?_ "

"Well, whatever it is, it's convenient. Anything that lets us evacuate more people is good." Even as he finished speaking, though, Lasky couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. He cast his eye over the display, and as _Infinity_ shook from another main battery discharge he allowed his focus to wander away from the main battle. Even as Abyssal and UNSC ships continued to pound each other to dust, more status lights blinking yellow, then red, then off, he tried to see beyond the obvious. The Abyssals weren't dumb, they wouldn't commit to a battle of attrition like this when they had the numbers to roll right over the UNSC, so what were they planning? Where was he leaving himself open…?

"Incoming transmission, Manassas Station!" shouted the comms officer, startling Lasky out of his reverie. "Large Abyssal formations emerging on the other side of the planet!"

"What?! Show me!" The display spun to Reach's other side, hiding the main battle from view. Several ODP clusters, guarded by a few cruiser, destroyer, and frigate divisions, hung there, a footnote to the main battle. Manassas Station in particular guarded the titular city's spaceport, a focal point for the steady stream of evacuation ships getting offworld. Lasky thought them safely concealed while the fleet held the Abyssals' attention, but now a freighter filled to the brim with civilians split in half in a flash of light as four Abyssal cruiser divisions and a dozen destroyer divisions made their presence known. "Where did they come from?!"

" _There was no sign of them, they didn't jump! They must have gone dark at the very start and coasted their way around._ " The ODPs and rearguard forces immediately moved to engage, but it was a losing battle from the start. His first instinct was to immediately detach a task force to reinforce them, but any attempt to move away from the fleet or gain distance for a precision jump would surely result in being focused down and destroyed.

Lasky suddenly understood the trap he'd fallen into. "Why did they concentrate their forces against this orbital arc? They know that they outmatch us ship for ship, but that we can match them with concentrated force and ODP support. So they nail us down with a force that's small enough to let us match them from a defensive position, baiting us into a static fight, but big enough so that if we spread out our defense they can easily isolate individual ships and destroy them. And while we're all grouped up and pinned down like this, they trade fire to keep our focus on them, while they can afford, with their numbers, to sneak ships around our flank and hit our rear areas. And we can't do a damn thing about it, because our ships will be blown out of the sky as soon as I detach them."

Roland's eyes nodded in agreement. " _Suppress and flank, it's a textbook maneuver. So simple I didn't even consider it._ "

Lasky nodded stiffly, rage and frustration clear in every fiber of his body. "And I fell for it. Damn them to hell!" he growled, slamming a fist against the holotable, mind racing for a way out even as the rearguard began to fall ship by ship. "Halt the evacuation now, ground all ships in atmosphere, forces in the area will cover those ships already in orbit and ensure they can jump!"

"Yes, sir!"

As if he didn't have enough to deal with, the sensor officer piped up as well. "Enemy forces are advancing en masse. Energy spikes — they're charging weapons, swinging wide to envelop us."

And so the other shoe dropped. If not for professionalism and discipline instilled by years of fighting, Lasky would have screamed in frustration. His options were to either stay defensive and be overrun, flee and abandon the evacuation, split his forces to be hunted down one by one, or order a counter-attack and charge into the waiting maw. He was trapped, with no one to blame but himself.

"Admiral, do we have orders?" questioned Captain Shen, finally showing some nervousness in a furrowed brow. "Abyssals are entering mid-range." Left unsaid was that their shooting was getting more accurate by the minute. Battleship _Ares_ fell out of formation for a brief moment, just long enough for focus fire to put three of her four main guns out of commission and turn her bow armor into a cratered ruin. Advancing to cover her, two cruisers managed to score hits and disable one of their Abyssal counterparts, taking enough fire off of _Ares_ to prevent her complete destruction before being destroyed in turn. A frigate squadron hurled a final torpedo salvo as the enemy line overtook them, fragile hulls popping like soap bubbles while the Abyssals concentrated on battering several heavy cruisers into scrap. Carrier _Essex's_ escort was caught off guard by the sudden advance and left her uncovered for a few moments, just enough for energy projectors followed by dozens missiles strikes to turn her hull and hangars into flaming scrap.

Damage reports and requests for assistance steadily mounted in frequency. Lasky tasked Roland with sorting them out, too busy trying to figure out a strategy. Unconsciously, he reached up to the shards of Hunter armor, worn smooth over the years, and the set of dog tags around his neck. Time slowed as his eyes flicked back and forth across the display, searching for a way out. He _could_ push out just enough to clear the ships for a slipspace jump. Hell, he might even preserve most of the fleet that way. But that would mean abandoning the planet, abandoning the evacuation, not only of Reach but of Tribute, Circumstance, and all the other worlds and colonies of Epsilon Eridani. Could he justify sacrificing ships and sailors to perhaps buy them that chance? "Captain Shen."

"Yes, Admiral?"

Lasky ground his teeth together, forcing the words out. "If you faced a choice between being guaranteed your survival… or giving many, many others the chance to see another day… which would you choose?"

"… sir, it is your decision," Shen stated flatly, seeing straight through his hedging. Lasky started to nod in resignation, but Shen continued. "However, I do not believe that I could, in good conscience, take the selfish option in this case."

"… thank you. And…" Lasky looked around the bridge. Every officer met his eye, and he could see nothing but determination in their gazes. "I see." His fist tightened around the armor shard, then relaxed. "Very well. Captain Shen, make your ship ready for close combat." Shen turned away with a grim nod and began issuing the relevant orders while Lasky reached for the fleet broadcast, a plan forming in his mind's eye and on the display in front of him. He breathed deeply, praying that his words would not fail him.

"Attention all units. Our primary battleline is untenable and the evacuation zones are under direct threat. As such, the primary objective is now preventing enemy reinforcements to the attack on our rearguard while increasing our defenses in those areas. Assume formation Whiskey-Sierra-Five and prepare to advance on the enemy. BattDiv Three, CruDivs One, Ten, Twelve and Eight, DesDivs Two through Ten, fall behind the main line of advance. Once you have sufficient separation, jump to intercept the enemy forces attacking our rear and shield the evacuation." He waited a moment to let acknowledgments blink from across the fleet, then began sending out his maneuver plan. "On our approach, stay close to overlap point defense and coordinate maneuvers to escape focus fire. Soft launch all remaining nuclear ordnance on my mark along with a conventional missile salvo, timed to hit when the distance between us and the enemy is thirty thousand kilometers. Use the EMP cover to close to effective main battery range. We'll aim to intercept the right wing of the enemy line, then swing around and continually bring our full strength to bear on small segments of their fleet."

"The secondary objective is to preserve our fighting strength, so don't throw away your ships, but if escape is unlikely then take as many of the bastards with you as you can." A breath to calm his nerves. "The Abbies are out for blood; use that against them. Bait them out of formation, distract them, isolate them. No matter what, stay on the move."

"It has been an honor fighting by your side. Don't stop firing until the last round is gone. Good luck. Lasky, out." The incoming fire intensified as he signed off, battering away at _Infinity_ 's shields. Even as the fleet got into position, Abyssal fire wiped out another two destroyers and a light cruiser, briefly exposed in the shuffle. If they didn't advance soon, the Abyssals would close the distance and all momentum would be with them. It was now or never. Looking around, he met Roland's gaze and gave a nod that carried all the words he didn't have time to say. The AI smirked and nodded back, then dematerialized to focus all his processing power on coordinating with other AIs across the fleet. Lasky continued to stare at the display, waiting for all his ships to get in formation, finger hovering over the fleet broadcast. "All units, prepare to launch covering salvo in ten seconds—"

" _Wait!_ " Roland rematerialized, throwing out a holographic arm. Lasky nearly bit his tongue cutting off his orders. " _Something's happening at the Abyssal rear — hold on, they're slowing down. Their formation is disintegrating!_ "

"Belay previous orders! All units stand by, repeat, stand by." Lasky squinted at the display. Sure enough, the monolithic Abyssal battleline was breaking apart, ships turning to scatter from the center like a swarm of ants dodging a raindrop. Individual vessels and sub formations maintained their position and continued to bear down, but as battleships swung their massive forms through wide turns while lighter units flitted around them like minnows, it was clear that unit cohesion was coming apart. While his brain tried to catch up to his eyes, he managed to stutter out, "What's going on? Why's this happening?!"

" _I don't know, it's like something's hitting them from behind! I don't have a visu — wait, incoming transmission from… Turul?_ "

"Turul? But… patch it through," Lasky ordered. As the transmission appeared on the display, he continued without waiting for it to clear up. "This is Admiral Lasky, UNSC _Infinity_. Who am I speaking to?" he asked, trying to ignore the rising tide of anxious murmurs, questions, and confused chatter on _Infinity'_ s bridge as well as the dozens of comm requests coming in from across the fleet.

A harried, exhausted, but pleased voice came back over the radio. " _This is Captain Garcia, UNSC_ Scorpia, _sir. My apologies for the lack of communication, our comm array was down._ "

"How are you alive?" Lasky questioned, silently signaling for Roland to confirm the transmission's authenticity. "Turul is overrun."

" _There's no time to explain, sir, but I think Lady Luck is on our side for a change. I'm sorry Admiral, but things are moving fast so I'm going to patch someone else through. I just need you to order the fleet not to fire on a transponder reading 'Forward Unto Dawn'."_

"Forward Unto — Captain, what is going on here?!" Lasky held back a curse as the line cut off, only to be replaced by a new comm request, routed through the same array but from a different source. "Roland, security analysis."

" _I didn't detect any intrusion attempts piggybacking on that transmission, and the voice sounded genuine. If it's a fake, it's a lot of effort for something pretty pointless._ "

"What is even happening anymore?" The universe didn't appear forthcoming with answers, so he resigned himself to accepting the request. "This is Admiral Thomas Lasky. Identify yourself and the purpose of your transmission."

" _Admiral Lasky?_ " Lasky blinked at the voice that came through. Young, and much too chipper given the circumstances, but also hiding a well of experience and sadness much too deep for its age. " _My name is Forward Unto Dawn. I was told to speak to you sir."_

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Lasky responded. "'Forward Unto Dawn'? Who are you and what are your intentions?" His mind raced, trying to figure out how to incorporate this new factor into his strategy while his hands hastily repositioned the fleet into a defensive formation and took advantage of Abyssal confusion to dispatch reinforcements to the evacuation zones.

" _Well… the first one is going to take a while to explain, sir, but the other should be clear enough if you glance over at my transponder._ " Right on cue, a small grey icon marked 'Forward Unto Dawn' appeared on the display near Turul. Ignoring the potential time paradox that presented, as well as the poorly disguised stares from the bridge crew, Lasky glanced over. Nothing happened for a moment, and he was about to point out as much when the transmission continued. " _… aaaaaand, there! Take that!_ "

Lasky would later reflect over drinks that, in a battle with so many twists and turns, he really shouldn't have been so surprised by what happened next. As it was though, he couldn't help from finally letting loose a single, loud, 'fuck' as the radio frequencies erupted into chaos when in a sector of space none of Lasky's ships were targeting, an Abyssal cruiser quietly and abruptly exploded.

* * *

A stream of shells burst against the shields covering Echo-4. Cursing, the pilot wrenched the Rapier's controls to starboard and up and slammed the throttle to WEP, snapping the nimble fighter into a roll and flipping it end over end into a deceleration burn. The weapons officer behind him toggled the lock-on and loosed a pair of missiles. They burned hard and corkscrewed into an impact with the pursuing Abyssal fighter whose own shots flew wide, thrown off by the sudden maneuver.

"Target, confirm, nine o'clock!" Another Abyssal swooped in on the Rapier's port side, cannons blazing. The pilot wrenched the fighter around to face its new opponent, calling for a missile lock—

Only to see the alien craft disintegrate, sawed apart by a stream of shells. The pilot breathed a sigh of relief even as the debris washed over the Rapier's shields. He still wasn't used to having such potent point-defense support so close at hand and doubted he ever would. Peering out the virtual canopy, he looked around for the source of the lethal shot.

Dawn fired a burst of deceleration from her thrusters, drawing up alongside the battered fighter. It waggled its wings at her and she threw a thumbs up in return, point defense turrets already rotating towards the next target. A wave of missiles bearing down upon her fell one by one, turned into smears of light and dust by accurate, efficient bursts of tungsten. She threw out a salvo of her own in response, savoring the feeling of being able to properly employ her full capabilities. After spending hours upon hours fighting through the confines of Turul's corridors, rooting out god knew how many Abyssals while a constant deluge of bullets and shrapnel set her ears to ringing, assisting in dangerous repairs and rescues, and just generally incurring all sorts of bumps and scratches, it felt good to stretch her legs. She might have taken more time to indulge the feeling, but there were bigger fish to fry.

 _"Watch yourself out there._ " Unbidden, Captain Garcia's parting words of advice came to mind. " _Small-arms seem to bounce right off you, but there's stuff being flung around that's literally ten times bigger than you are."_ Concern had glimmered in his eyes as she stood in the airlock, a pair of technicians doing their best to check over her equipment. _"Take your orders from Admiral Lasky on Infinity, though I imagine he'll be a little too busy to direct you personally."_ Turning to leave, he'd added, _"Try to keep in contact, alright? Don't die before I get a chance to properly thank you."_

"Sorry, Captain, I don't think I'll have time for phone calls," she muttered, reading her sensor outputs. "What a mess… well, can't go wrong if I just shoot the aliens. Comm, analyze the chatter, give me a priority target!" Without up-to-date protocols, her systems weren't automatically discerning priority targets from general naval communication. It took a long, frustrating twenty seconds, but eventually her officers came through.

 _Friendly forces are concentrating fire on priority target battleship Bravo-6, two hundred k klicks._

"Understood," Dawn said, focusing her sensor suite on the designated Abyssal ship, suppressing a shiver of revulsion as she got an up-close look at the twisted designs and roiling, malevolent, nauseating energies covering and billowing off of the vessel. Iverson's short prison-cell history lesson and Garcia's hasty mission briefing hadn't exactly given a full picture of what awaited her, and the reality of her new enemy and her new war started to sink in. "This ain't just Covies 2.0… what in the world have I gotten into — holy shit!" Streaks of light slammed into the thing's shields, dozens of them, covering the barrier in a cloud of explosions. "Were those MAC rounds?"

 _Negative, sensors indicate missiles._

"Some fast goddamn missiles, then." Dawn's Archers suddenly felt quite sluggish in comparison to the high-velocity ordnance flying back and forth. "Um, okay, status on target?"

 _Damaged but highly active._

"Alright, let's finish it off! Prepare the main battery!"

Machinery whirred, bringing her shoulder mounted MAC down from stowed to ready. Now this, the worn metal, scratched paint and scorched muzzle, _this_ hadn't changed at all. Settling into a familiar posture with a smile, Dawn activated her targeting array, a ghostly green set of crosshairs, a lead indicator, and a maneuver prediction cone floating in her vision. As electricity filled the capacitors she maneuvered to place her crosshairs over the lead indicator, small bursts of thrust settling the unwieldy cannon into a tracking position. The charge filled quickly enough, and the round was loaded soon after, leaving only the fire order left. She licked her dry lips, double checked her aim, and…

"Fire one!" A brilliantly silver bolt lanced outwards from the storm of energy discharge at the muzzle. The recoil sent a jolt of pain up her arm, nearly throwing off her aim and making her hiss a curse. The shot was true, though, and as Dawn tracked it in she willed the Abyssal not to turn, not to slow, not to speed up, to continue on its straight steady course on an intercept with 600 tons of metal drawing closer, closer—

The Abyssal's damaged armor put up little resistance to the impact. In an instant, the shell smashed dozens of compartments to bits and opened more up to vacuum. Encountering the thick, shield-reinforced internal citadel plate, the light round lacked the penetration to get through and broke into large fragments which ricocheted in all directions. A large portion hit the main armor belt on their way out, and without the energy to tear through it again, bounced back into the battleship's internal spaces, shredding through more compartments and systems. One managed to find the unarmored back of a missile pod and touched off the plasma warheads therein, causing a plume of flame to spew out.

 _Confirmed penetration!_

"Okay, keep it up!" Though frightening to look at, Dawn knew from experience the damage was only superficial. She could smash and burn auxiliary compartments all she wanted, but until the engines and main battery were out that battleship was still dangerous, as it proved when it turned, fired, and put UNSC _River Whisper_ permanently out of commission. "Come on!"

 _MAC, reloaded._

 _Firing solution acquired._

"Fire!" Her second shot went out, traced a bright silver line across the darkness, and missed. Dawn swore, working the loading mechanisms as fast as she could to load heavier ammunition, but now another wave of missiles bore down on her and a group of fighters close behind them. The turrets mounted in a ring around her waist and on her upper arms seemed to traverse in slow motion as she retasked her secondary batteries and point defenses, hastily stowing her MAC and preparing for evasive action—

" _We got them._ " Her fighter escorts repaid her earlier favor, diving on the missiles before her point defenses even got in range. The fast-approaching warheads could not even hope to dodge in time, and the nimble Rapiers tore them apart in one pass. They then turned to engage the incoming fighters, intricate maneuvering systems enabling dizzying spins and pinpoint turns that put a Longsword to shame. As Dawn's point defenses fired into the melee, they ran circles around the overwhelmed Abyssal fighters and soon her sensors detected only debris. " _Just keep shooting, we've got you covered. Give 'em hell!_ "

"Roger that, thank you!" Making a mental note to thank Garcia for updating her IFF systems, she turned her attention back to her main battery. Her hasty actions had interrupted the MAC loading sequence. As the capacitors once again built up energy, Dawn reacquired her target, calculated the lead, and drove a shell into its broadside. The heavier round, designed to penetrate several dozen meters of earth, concrete, and metal in orbital bombardment, proved just as effective against the battleship when the alien vessel's spine snapped and it broke in two. "Bravo 6 is down, give me another target!"

 _Understood, new priority target cruiser Echo-8, three hundred k klicks._

 _Main battery ready._

"Target cruiser Echo-8!"

 _Target acquired._

Dawn tightened her grip and braced for the recoil. "Fire one!" The capacitors discharged an instant later, releasing a silent rush of energy that rocked the cannon carriage backwards into her shoulder. A 600-ton slug shot in the opposite direction, forcing an Abyssal destroyer squadron to maneuver and spoiling their attack run on heavy cruiser _Scarborough Fair_ , sailing past a doomed battleship spewing munitions and escape pods as it broke apart into fiery chunks, blowing past a pair of frigates before they could so much as blink and slamming into a cruisers's shields with a brilliant flash of kinetic energy.

 _Yes! Target hit!_

"Don't let up, fire two!" The cruiser, alerted to a new threat, stopped firing on a heavy cruiser and began accelerating to dodge, but its bulk worked against it; Dawn's second shot hit in much the same place the first one had, causing the Abyssal's shields to flicker dangerously. "Two for two, keep 'em coming!" Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she slapped another round into the MAC's breech, closed the chamber and sent another round on the way. "Fire three, reload!" The third round hit, finally breaking the cruiser's shields. Sensing danger, its escorts maneuvered to shield it, but they were just a little too slow. "Fire four!"

The cruiser's armor provided little resistance to the mass of metal which tore into its broadside. Bulkhead after bulkhead, deck after deck failed as the slug burrowed deep into the ship. It almost paused upon meeting a thick internal armor plate, as if unsure whether or not it still possessed the energy to make it through, but the instant passed and armor and slug broke as one, shredding the reactor plant in a storm of metal and engulfing the cruiser in a chain of explosions.

The blast registered on her sensors, but Dawn had no time to celebrate as she fell into a rhythm of aim, fire, reload, aim, fire, reload, motions smooth and automatic as she pumped out round after round after round, as ship after ship fell, all while her fighter friends kept up a constant stream of encouragement and shot down missiles and strike craft which came her way. Hull stress warnings, easily ignored, sounded as another cruiser exploded under her ministrations, pinned in position by a harassing frigate squadron and unable to evade. She idly wondered whether the Abyssals even knew where they were being hit from as she used her speed and small stature to gain the rear of a battleship caught in a duel with its UNSC counterpart, hammer down its weaker aft shields and place a nuke into its propulsion systems. They seemed a little slow on the uptake, or perhaps their command just couldn't believe the evidence of their sensors — which, honestly, she could understand, even as she turned her fire against a series of what looked like navigation or comms beacons, floating in space just behind the main Abyssal line. There seemed to be more chaos than organization in their lines, but it appeared individual ships were catching on, though, as scattered return fire forced her to constantly stay on the move, but she didn't mind so much because each easily dodged round was a shot, a salvo not being fired at her allies.

While she dodged and shot, her thoughts raced, trying to process everything coming through her sensor suite at once. It was... a bit overwhelming, honestly. To start with, the sheer size of both the human and alien fleets was on a scale she never imagined possible. The biggest Covie fleet had numbered in the hundreds, and now she was facing thousands?! In addition, the sight of beams of plasma steadily pulsing out from human vessels, whose designs were familiar yet foreign at the same time, was a bit unnerving. Those looked like Covie weapons... what kind of relationship did the UNSC have with the Elites? In the distance, the blue-green orb of Reach floated, vibrant and glass-free, completely divorced from the smoldering ball of ash she'd last seen it as. That sight almost got her to stop and stare for a minute, but then her attention flitted away. There was just too much, how could she stay on one thing for long? Were those shields covering UNSC ships? Were there any Longswords, or had they all been replaced by those Rapier things? Not to mention the thing's she'd seen, fighting in Turul's narrow hallways. The weapons, the uniforms, the armor, the people, even the aliens whose blood now covered the floors, they were all just different enough from her memories to make her feel like she was half a step out of line with the universe. Captain Garcia had tried to explain all the changes she'd missed, but he'd had so little time and so much to cover. So much had changed in barely thirty years; it was enough to make her head spin.

Alarms snapped her back to the here and now as a squadron of Abyssal destroyers veered off from the battle line and sprinted towards her in a long overdue response, propulsion tracing long streaks of plasma across the inky backdrop. Dawn's fighter escort scattered a she slammed her propulsion to full ahead, taking off with the alien ships in hot pursuit. She grit her teeth as particle beams licked out, slicing glowing gashes into her armor, burning away bits of uniform and leaving large, raw patches of burnt skin wherever they got through. Her point defenses went to work while she juked and dodged around a hail of railgun slugs, putting her reactor through its paces when she wove and bent around a trio of missiles in a series of maneuvers that would have snapped her old titanium hull in two. The PDCs made short work of the rest, and the growing debris field shielded her from some fire and allowed her to toss a handful of Moray mines behind her. Trap set, Dawn accelerated hard, leading the Abyssals on in a rocket-powered game of cat-and-mouse. In their single-minded desire to catch her, the destroyers plowed straight into the debris field, unaware of the mines until nuclear detonations blossomed all around.

Dawn let out a wordless whoop of excitement as she decelerated hard enough to feel her eyeballs rattling in her skull, flipped over and rammed a MAC round straight through a destroyer's bow. Stripped of its shields by the Morays, the destroyer convulsed as the slug penetrated and tore through its interior, going dark before internal explosions consumed its hull. The rest of the Abyssals fell into disarray, breaking formation to avoid the debris even as Dawn flew circles and rained hellfire upon them, taking them out one by one as fast as her weapons could cycle. Their secondary batteries tracked her, but presented with such a small target maneuvering erratically at high speeds in close quarters their shots poked holes in vacuum. She felt a grin grow on her face and a strange, floating sensation fill her chest as targets fell off her sensors one by one — was this what it felt like to be a Covenant ship, smiting puny humans while deciding on lunch?

The sudden thought sobered her, but only a bit, as the last destroyer went dark and her weapons spun down. Coming down off her high, Dawn became aware that she was panting, of a deep aching in her arms, legs, back, everywhere, of UNSC vessels pressing the attack against a broken enemy formation, and of dead silence on her comm. Suddenly self-conscious, she keyed her radio. "This is Forward Unto Dawn. Uh, apologies for getting out of position. Requesting new orders, over."

"… _Understood. Stand by, over._ "

Dawn snorted. "Stand by, he says. Stand by where?" She winced and put a hand to her chest as it ached, right where the flesh was still red and raw from her healed bullet wound. "Gotta cool it with the high-g maneuvering." She absentmindedly took a potshot at a distant battleship — miss — and rubbed the sore spot until it stopped twinging, wondering where her fighters were. Then alarms blared, warning of incoming fire, and she took off like a rabbit. " _Infinity,_ this is Forward Unto Dawn, there are three destroyer squadrons, a cruiser division, and — good lord that is a battleship on my six. I could use some help, over!" Any response was lost when multiple EMPs sent her communications suite into a seizure. Dawn quickly boosted sideways, avoiding a thicket of nuclear fireballs by mere kilometers, close enough to feel the radiation prickle her skin and taste lead on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut instinctively, and so was caught by surprise when a kinetic round glanced off her helmet.

Funny how it only ever took one little mistake for everything to go sideways. Time slowed and Dawn was a passenger in her own body. Her head snapped to one side, neck bending to a degree she was pretty sure necks weren't supposed to bend. The shell gouged a deep furrow through her helmet and sent fragments of sensors and antennae spinning away into space. Pain filled her skull before a chilling, paralyzing numbness replaced it, along with a shrill ringing in her ears and a dull leadenness in her limbs. Plasma beams flashed by as she fought to regain control of herself, succeeding just in time to for several missiles to engulf her in flame and shrapnel.

 _Hull breaches in all sectors, venting atmosphere fast!_

 _Fire alarm, multiple decks! Fire in the reactor room!_

 _Compartmentalization failure, Frames 15 through 37!_

"Fucking—!" Dawn went evasive on instinct, weaving from side to side as salvo after salvo came uncomfortably close. Alarms went off continuously, filling her ears with a cacophony of warnings and alerts. Flames licked out of gashes in her hull, feeding off venting gasses. Half of her point defense guns were gone, reduced to smoldering wrecks, the port armor belt was dangerously compromised, missile silos were not responding and all in all it was a miracle that her left arm and leg, blackened and burned, were still there. It seemed like her very blood was on fire, cooking her from the inside out as it bubbled up from her wounds and boiled off into the vacuum. Throughout her chest and upper back it felt like her bones and muscles were going through a very nasty divorce. Red tinged the peripheries of her vision and she bit back another scream, applying thrust to spin herself head over heels and snap off a one-handed, barely aimed MAC shot that blasted a destroyer's internal machinery out of its dorsal armor belt, combined with a volley of secondary fire and every single nuclear warhead in her magazines which swallowed another two destroyers in fireballs that only one, heavily damaged and with only one engine left, emerged from.

The incoming slackened a bit, but Dawn questioned whether it was really worth it when her injuries clearly disagreed with that maneuver. A wave of agony like a dozen energy swords stabbing through her nerves caused her to black out for several breathless seconds, and it was only through sheer luck that an incoming railgun round punched straight through her chest cavity without hitting anything major. Damage control immediately started patching the holes, among the thousand other holes, fires, torn and burst lines, structural fractures and leaks on their list, and but the short, sudden jolt was enough to snap her back into the present. "Shit, I can't — die — here—! Mayday, mayday, declaring emergency, requesting support!" The universe evidently did not care about her intentions, because her functioning sensors overrode the dozens of other alarms to warn of incoming plasma torpedoes, twisting and homing in despite her best evasive maneuvers. Dawn closed her eyes and cringed, waiting for scorching, melting heat to envelop her.

"… _get clear, over._ " In a pain-induced haze, Dawn almost thought the cut-off transmission was an auditory hallucination. Her comms officer, however, quickly confirmed it was not, and Dawn blindly fired her starboard emergency thrusters, flinging herself hard to port just as a slipspace portal tore open with a torrent of Cherenkov and Hawking radiation. Out charged a heavy cruiser, filling her sight with titanium and plasma exhaust, and threw itself between her and the torpedoes. Electricity crackled as they, unable to swerve around the cruiser's bulk, crashed against her shields, broke through, and splashed against her starboard armor. An enormous mass of bubbling, melted hull came into view as the cruiser rolled to spread the damage, vaporized metal boiling off into a hot, dense mist. Dawn gasped as a faint, pained groan hit her ears, despite the complete lack of atmosphere around her, and as more slipspace portals opened up, disgorging frigate wolfpacks, destroyer squadrons, three entire cruiser divisions and two battleships to form a protective shield around her, a shield bristling with MACs, missiles, lasers, point defenses, and fully willing to use them on the suddenly outmatched Abyssals. IDs began to appear in Dawn's HUD — _Brahma, Fujin, Vanguard, Crimson Sunset, Duke of York, Field of Poppies,_ and the cruiser right in front of her, _Hope Springs Eternal_ — and she nearly cried in relief when she realized what had happened. She was saved. _Saved_.

" _All units, this is_ Brahma _, concentrate fire on the battleship then detach for free maneuver, over._ "

" _Understood._ Scarborough Fair _is advancing to engage, over._ "

" _FrigDiv 23_ , c _ommencing torpedo runs on hostile formation Bravo-Three. Requesting covering fire, over._ "

" _Enemy is falling back, keep up the pressure!_ "

As the task force engaged the backpedalling Abyssals, her radio crackled. "Forward Unto Dawn, c _an you receive this transmission, over?_ "

"I-I— dammit." In her haste to respond, she'd forgotten to actually key the radio. "Yes, I receive. Thank you for the assist… over," she replied, trying to match the professional tone of the transmission and keep her voice from quavering.

The response was faint and staticky, the best that her damaged communications arrays could produce, but clear enough to understand. " _Copy. Match course with_ Hope Springs Eternal _and prepare to meet an escort, over,_ " the operator said, still in that utterly cool and disinterested voice.

"W-wilco. Out." Repair parties were slowly bringing the damage under control, lessening the pain and slowing the bleeding with each extinguished fire and patched penetration, but her voice still trembled. "T-terrible bedside manner," she added after the radio cut off. Her MAC was still loaded and charged, so she added another shell to the barrages pouring out from the main guns of the UNSC ships, hitting a cruiser and turning its propulsion systems into a mess of twisted metal. She quickly regretted taking it as her abused shoulder screamed bloody murder in protest.

She massaged the sore, perforated muscle as best she could while her damaged thrusters pushed her alongside _Eternal._ A speck of light detached from the cruiser's side and quickly drew near, allowing Dawn to identify it as a Pelican. A small wave of nostalgia came over her at the familiar shape; at least some things hadn't changed. The rear ramp dropped as it decelerated to a relative stop twenty meters away, letting light spill out and silhouette the five people inside, two of whom wore tethers and booster packs. They pushed off towards her, and she gave a small burst of thrust to meet them halfway.

" _Hold on,_ " a crackly voice came over her radio, " _I got you— oof!_ " Confused at the reaction, Dawn quickly realized the full weight of her equipment — had to be at least a ton, despite how light it felt — had just plowed, however gently, straight into a completely ordinary human sailor. Embarrassed, she concentrated hard on dispelling it, figuring it had to be simpler than the process of summoning it in the first place. The layers of armor and equipment mounted on her disappeared with a flash of light. Their departure came with the feeling of a great deal of strength rushing out of her body, leaving her feeling even weaker and more exhausted than before. To her great surprise, however, the state of her injures, already slowly healing thanks to the efforts of her repair parties, instantly and visibly improved. Burned areas faded from angry red and black to a light pink and no longer wept fluid, the pain in her back and chest lessened, and her cuts no longer bled as much.

Before she could think further on the implications of _that_ , a pair of hands pressed a vacuum mask against her face. " _Just breathe, you're okay._ " Dawn breathed in sweet, smoke-free, oxygen, using both hands to put the strap in place and press the supple plastic tighter to her face, taking deep, calming breaths as the tether crew secured their grips on her. " _Shit, you're really hurt!_ "

"No, really!" she ground out between her teeth, trying to keep her blood from staining his vacuum suit and failing. "I guess I hadn't noticed, in between being shot and blown up."

" _Fair enough, you've been through the wringer. Can you stay awake?_ " She could only manage a nod in response, but the man seemed to understand. " _Okay, reel us in!_ "

There was a light tug, and then the winch mechanisms attached to the tethers began to pull her into the Pelican, her two rescuers keeping a tight hold on her the entire time. Once in, they wasted no time in pushing her into a seat and lowering a restraining bar over her lap and chest. " _Is it too tight anywhere?_ "

"No, I-I'm good."

Another voice broke into the channel, presumably the pilot. " _Strap her in, there's too much heat for us to stay outside._ " Shrapnel rattled off the hull, perfectly punctuating his statement.

" _Done, get us outta here._ " One of the sailors turned and placed a comforting hand on Dawn's shoulder. " _Hang on a little longer, okay? Doc's gonna check you out._ "

"W-will do." Acceleration pushed her back into the seat as a corpsman knelt in front of her. In clipped tones, she asked if Dawn could hear her, did she know where she was, where her injuries were, was she dizzy, nauseous, sleepy, et cetera, on a scale of one to ten how much did it hurt. Dawn answered as best as she could through the haze of pain and weariness clouding her thoughts, but she must have said something weird because at one point the corpsman did a double-take at something on a data pad and sent an inscrutable look her way. "So… what're your names?" Dawn asked, trying to be conversational.

The other occupants of the cargo hold glanced at each other, as if trying to decide who would go first. Finally, with a cough, one of the still-tethered sailors went first. " _I'm Crewman Ho._ "

" _Crewman Watkins._ "

" _HM3 Lee_ ," said the corpsman, now poking an IV drip into Dawn's forearm doing her best to dress the burns and lacerations littering her body. " _Hold still so this doesn't go somewhere it's not supposed to._ "

" _Petty Officer Abigail Pierre._ "

" _Crewman Jenkins._ "

"Ho, Watkins, Lee, Pierre, Jenkins." Dawn leaned back in seat and managed a small but genuine smile. "Thanks for the assist. I don't think I'd have lasted another minute out there."

Pierre gave a short chuckle. " _You helped yourself, taking out those slipspace jammers. That let Admiral Lasky jump us in behind Abbie lines and pull your ass out of the fire._ "

Dawn vaguely remembered firing on and destroying a series of what she thought were comm beacons. "So that's what they were," she said softly. "Times sure have moved on, haven't they…?"

At that, the sailors shared another glance — all except Lee, applying some sort of soothing salve to Dawn's burns. " _Is it true, what they say you said?_ " Watkins asked, " _That you're really…the_ Forward Unto Dawn _?_ "

"… hmph. I did bring that on myself, didn't I?"

" _I'm sorry, it's just all so… so unbelievable, you know? We all talk as if ships have personalities, but it was never meant to be literal! And then you come in here, casually name-drop THE_ Forward Unto Dawn, _then back it up by kicking ass and taking names…_ "

Jenkins broke in and cut Watkins off. " _What he means is that we'll make sure the floors get mopped extra squeaky clean from now on._ "

A round of laughter went around the Pelican, and to her surprise Dawn found herself joining in. It was a strange feeling, but pleasant, and over too soon. "You better," she shot back, "But really though, you should come back to that. I haven't stopped asking that myself." That got another round of chuckles, but before more questions could come the pilot interrupted.

" _We're closing in on_ Eternal _now. Prepare for landing._ " The sailors barely had enough time to brace before deceleration hit. The g-forces were far less than those endured under combat, but Dawn still grunted; she'd gotten used to her own powerful inertial dampers, and the ones in the Pelican were a miserable affair in comparison. Moments later, the Pelican landed with a thud and the rear ramp dropped. The sailors undid their restraints and helped Dawn out of hers, then kept her upright as she stumbled down the ramp, out of the cramped, quiet, dim cargo bay into the spacious, noisy, and so very, _very bright_ hangar.

It said something about the situation that hardly anyone gave Dawn a second glance. As she was led off to one side, Lee still fussing over her, she saw the Pelican being unceremoniously taken away to make room for incoming fighters. Fuel lines and ordnance carts snaked their way across the deck, preparing yet more fighters and strike craft for launch in the familiar frenetic yet steady tempo of combat flight operations. A few sailors swore at her for getting in their way, but nobody really paid attention to the exhausted, bedraggled, bandage-wrapped girl looking as lost as a newly transferred midshipman. It was, strangely, a little comforting; somewhere, in the back of her mind, lived the fear of being stared at like some sort of circus curiosity.

Fortunately, Dawn wasn't left standing idle for long. A beeping horn caught her attention right before a pair of Mongoose-looking vehicles pulled up next to her. "Is this her?" the lead driver asked Pierre, pointing his chin at Dawn. At her nod, he motioned for Dawn to get on the rear seat. "Come on, we've got places to go. Captain's orders," he added, flashing a data pad when Lee tried to protest.

"O-okay, if that's alright with you…?" Pierre looked over at the corpsman then nodded, albeit reluctantly, and Dawn went to strap herself in before her wobbles sent her to the floor. "Are we going to the medbay?"

"No, CIC. The captain will meet you there." A million questions rested on the tip of her tongue, first of which was _shouldn't I see a doctor?_ , but she only managed a farewell wave to her rescuers before the driver gunned the motor and whisked her out of sight, the other vehicle close behind. "Hang on back there, we're going fast!" True to his word, the Mongoose hung a right into some sort of wide central service corridor, then accelerated hard enough to leave Dawn's surprised yelp in its dust. "You alright? Sorry 'bout not going to the medbay, but this is important."

"I-I'm good! It's just — ugh! — just a flesh wound!"

"If you say so!" Heavy thuds sounded from behind. Dawn looked up and noticed thick, armored blast doors closing to seal off the corridor behind their passage. She shivered and prayed that one didn't fall on her head.

"Hey, here!" Squealing brakes nearly drowned out a shout from the other Mongoose. The marines riding it parked off to the side of the corridor and hurried to Dawn's side. "CIC is this way. Let's not keep the captain waiting." More questions died in her throat as they practically frogmarched her through a side door and into a dizzying blur of passageways and junctures which seemed deliberately designed to confuse her — or an enemy boarding party. Eventually, they came to a stop in front of another pair of blast doors, guarded by machine gun turrets in the roof. Dawn eyed them warily as the marines input a code to open the doors. "Captain's waiting for you in there," one marine said, gesturing for her to go in. "Hope it goes well."

"We're rooting for you!" With an encouraging little push at her back, Dawn stumbled over the threshold. The doors shut behind her, abruptly cutting off the rest of the ship, and the atmosphere of the CIC washed over her.

Well, less washed over and more hit her like a nostalgic train. The pure, aching _familiarity_ of it all wrenched out a small gasp. The quiet murmurs, officers delivering reports, blue battle lighting, softly whirring fans, blinking displays, the occasional concerning shudder as _Eternal_ fired or took a hit — when she closed her eyes, she might have been back in 2552. For the first time, she felt like she could breathe free. For the first time since waking up, she felt at home, and she latched onto that feeling like a suffocating sailor to an oxygen bottle. It was enough to make her smile and let out a genuine laugh.

"Ahem."

Dawn whirled around, face flushing red. Somehow, she hadn't noticed the group of officers gathered around the center display, all looking at her with varying degrees of raised eyebrows. Oh shit, she'd actually _laughed_ in front of them! Some of the CIC staff sent irritated looks her way, oh God, protocol, protocol, protocol— "A-apologies!" She snapped into a salute, back ramrod straight and gaze fixed on the back wall. "Forward Unto Dawn, reporting! I was told you wanted to see me?"

For a long moment nobody said anything. Dawn awkwardly held her salute, wondering if anyone could see the sweat breaking out on her forehead. The display flickered as it updated, casting odd shadows all round the room. "Hmph. At ease." An officer stepped forwards, waving her down. "You're not part of the UNSC, technically speaking, so there's really no need for that."

"Y-yes, sir." She lowered her hand and stood at perfect parade rest. The officer looked her over a little more, eyes appraising, like a scientist would look over an interesting set of data. Dawn almost looked away, but she steeled herself, determined not to seem weak or, worse, unprofessional.

Then, suddenly, his demeanor changed. A small smile appeared, followed by an extended hand. "Captain Khalid, CO UNSC _Hope Springs Eternal_. A pleasure to meet you, Forward Unto Dawn." His eyes flicked to the bandages wrapped around her arm. "You're injured. Lieutenant Somers, please tell the medbay they'll have a priority case soon."

She blinked dumbly at him for a moment before hastily returning the handshake. "Oh, I, uh, you can just call me Dawn, sir." Khalid smiled again, nodded, and stepped back into an at ease. "May I ask what the big hurry's for?"

"Well — one moment. Match course with _Los Angeles_ and bring us alongside to transfer repair parties. Point defenses will remain on high alert, main battery will target hostile Charlie-28 in coordination with _Hellmarch_ and _Gimlet Eye_. Weiss, remain on alert for further net intrusion attempts, targeting disruption and psychic interference." A chorus of 'yes sir's came from around the room, including an icy blue AI who manifested too briefly for Dawn to get a good look. "My apologies. Where was I? Ah, yes. Well, naturally, I just wanted to meet the hero of the hour."

"Hero?" Dawn laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her head. "That's an exaggeration, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I'll spare you the boring details but — do we have safe capacity — no, then divert main battery supply to the shield generators and cooling coils — ahem. The Abyssals had us in a real bind, but you threw a nice, big, wrench into their formation. That let us counterattack and regain momentum, and kept us from being run down."

Dawn let out a deep breath. "Thank you. But there's more, isn't there, sir?" Asking so many questions to this officer suddenly reminded her of another, and the promise she'd made to him. "And, um, I know it's out of the blue, but do you think you could contact Captain Garcia? He's stuck on Turul, and I promised I'd keep in touch."

"All in good time." Dawn nodded glumly and his expression turned serious. "You're right on the first count though. Are you patched into the command net?" He _tsked_ at Dawn's headshake. "Then you won't have seen this yet." Khalid stepped back to the display table, giving quiet commands to officers along the way, and motioned for Dawn to come over. "Observe this. Weiss, please queue the replay."

" _Of course, sir,_ " the AI responded. The display split into two portions: one showing the current situation, and the other a battle playback.

"Thank you. Now, before we start, listen closely to your surroundings. Do you notice anything strange?" Being lead around in circles was starting to get very irritating, not to mention a large mental drain on her last reserves of stamina trying to figure where this was all going. Biting down an urge to be a smartass, Dawn closed her eyes and tried to extend her senses, not expecting much thanks to her lack of practice using them. As she concentrated on that familiar mix of noises, the muttering, the mechanical humming, the tap-tap-tap of fingers against screens, the occasional muffled curse, all faded away until she was left with only one sound — or rather, the absence of it.

"The ship — she's not shooting," Dawn murmured. "The battle, though…" She looked again at the display, exhaustion replaced by curiosity. "Sir, what is…when did… "

Khalid nodded approvingly. "So you noticed. Weiss, start the replay." The display began to shift, showing the disposition of UNSC and Abyssal forces approximately 45 minutes ago. "Right as we jumped to assist you, the Abbies began pulling their battleline back to the proximity of Turul." A small blue blob disappeared from UNSC lines, only to appear behind the Abyssal fleet. The red mass representing the alien fleet stopped its slow advance, then withdrew back in on itself, reforming around the moon. "Moments later, all ships in the fleet received a transmission originating from what we assume is the Abyssal flagship." An inset appeared on the display, showing a close-up image of an Abyssal ship. Dawn frowned as she got a closer look.

"Looks just like an ordinary battleship, sir. Wouldn't their flagship be something… bigger?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Like that big bastard at Roseport…" Khalid murmured, then shook his head. "Forgive me, just memories. But there's been significant uptick in signals traffic coming from it, so we're now operating on the assumption it's the command ship."

Dawn nodded slowly, leaning against the display table to get a better look. "So…what's going on? Are we attacking?"

"No, their position is too strong for that. With Turul as an anchor, they can rotate their damaged ships into hard cover and outlast any assault we can throw at them. Admiral Lasky is using the stalemate to clean up the Abyssals who snuck around our line, so we're not wasting the time."

"Well, that's all fine and good, but… sir, my apologies, but I don't understand what this has to do with me?" Dawn ended on a hesitant tone, not wanting to sound impertinent. To her surprise, Khalid nodded, looking pensive.

"Well, you're right. It wouldn't, aside from using you as a battering ram to crack that shell they've built. However, the contents of the message make this another matter entirely. The admiral is holding a conference in five mikes to discuss it but for now, just have a listen." Khalid nodded over at a comms officer, who then pressed her console a few times. A moment later, a scratchy, distorted recording began to play.

" _Human forces._ " Having played it over and over for the past half hour, all the officers were intimately familiar with the hollow, echoing voice that sounded from the speakers, and so looked over with some concern Dawn gave a small, strangled gasp of surprise. " _At the time of this transmission, our forces will withdraw to the orbit of the largest moon of this planet. We will not engage in combat for seven hours from the time of this transmission. Within those seven hours, you will send us the one known as Forward Unto Dawn to parley. Should you comply, we will cease operations in this system and withdraw."_

 _"Should you fail, however… your world burning will be the least of your concerns._ "

* * *

" _Signal strength five by five. Tightbeam secure. Good to go, Captain_."

"Thank you, Verdant." Garcia straightened his posture and collar, squared up with the desk in front of him, and hoped the rips and burns on his uniform would go unnoticed. It was an inevitable result of combat but still rather embarrassing. If four years at Luna OCS had taught him anything, it was that fresh clothes tended to be desirable in the presence of the fleet commander.

And on that subject, why the hell was he even part of this conference? Sure, the background info came with the invite so he understood the purpose of it, but he was only a captain, a _destroyer_ captain at that! It wasn't like he had any particular insights to provide — hell, he'd only gotten power restored to all facilities on Turul a few hours ago, forget strategizing! What was he doing in the presence of admirals and generals and division commanders?

And that message… to Garcia's knowledge, this was the first instance of dialogue with the Abyssals, ever. He supposed it counted as a momentous occasion. All the same, the contents instantly put him on guard. To start, seven hours? That was enough time for most of the evacuation ships to get away, especially after the Abyssals attacking them withdrew. So that indicated the Abyssals were no longer interested in disrupting the evacuation, which in turn suggested something much bigger had come up, something they were willing to trade one of their primary objectives for.

That something was obviously Dawn, and to be sure she was a massive development, but still, to throw off their entire battle plan for her when they still had every chance of regaining momentum and steamrolling the fleet… he was too tired to figure out what _that_ implied, but he definitely didn't like it. The conditions of their offer were obviously designed to let them neutralize her without a fight, but it was _too_ obvious, the equivalent of writing DEFINITELY NOT ONI on the side of a Prowler. Certainly there had to be another layer, but what? And did the UNSC really have any choice but to accept?

The conference began, cutting off further musings. The screen in front of Garcia loaded into a row of faces, some of which he recognized: Admiral Lasky, naturally, 8th Army commander General Kim, Captain Khalid from the _Hope Springs_ _Eternal_ , and evacuation commander Captain Liang. There were a few others, but not many, and all eyes were on Lasky anyway as he spoke. " _Alright people, before we start, I'd like to acknowledge that it's been a rather interesting day._ " That got a few seconds of tired laughter. " _Jokes aside, though, I'd prefer us to keep philosophical and existential debates out for the moment. There'll be time for truth-seeking and questioning reality as we know it later. For the moment, we take things at face value, understood?_ "

" _Yes sir!_ "

 _"Very well then, straight to business. At present, we still cannot contact HIGHCOM, so we're on our own here. Understand?_ " A round of nods answered him. _"Good. Now, we've got ourselves, at present, just over six hours of borrowed time to sort this mess out. I assume you've all heard the message by now?_ " A chorus of confirmations sounded; Garcia had managed to listen a few times, enough to burn that eerie voice into his brain. " _So the question is whether or not we accept the offer. I'd first like to hear all of your opinions._ "

Kim went first. " _It's a trap,_ " he growled. " _It's load of bullshit, and the way things are going they can't back it up. The Abbies know we've got them on the ropes, so they're trying to get us to hand over one of our only advantages without a should hit them hard, now, while we still have it._ "

" _Well, hold on,_ " Liang countered, _"it's true we did push them back. However, they still hold massive numerical superiority, and according to Captain Khalid's latest report, the medical report for Forward Unto Dawn is not good. She won't be able to support any effort we make._ "

" _That's true,_ " Khalid said. " _My medical staff claim it's a miracle she's still awake and responsive. The initial evaluation showed evidence of plasma burns over forty percent of her body, lacerations, internal contusions and bleeding, and hairline bone fractures._ " He coughed at the slightly queasy look on a few faces. " _I will add, though, that they also report that the observed injuries appear to be healing at a greatly accelerated rate. Skin and muscle are literally knitting themselves back together. They can't explain it, but think MediGel on a triple dose of steroids._ "

" _All the same, those sorts of injuries won't just be combat effective within a few hours,_ " Liang shot back. " _Maybe in a couple of weeks, but not within the time we have. I think our best shot at buying time comes with taking their offer."_

 _"You're not seriously suggesting just handing her over, are you?_ " Kim asked incredulously. " _Whatever questions remain, and there are a lot of them, the fact is she single-handedly destroyed two dozen ships in just over an hour. That's better kill efficiency than anything outside of a NOVA bomb, and you want to let the Abyssals have that for free?!_ "

" _I'm not saying that at all! But we have to face facts. Even though she is powerful, we cannot risk deploying her in a full fleet action in her state. And without her, the fleet alone cannot prevent Reach from falling!_ "

" _Now just what are you saying here—"_

Other officers began chiming in in support of both sides. Minding his position, Garcia kept his mouth shut, as he noticed Khalid doing as well. Lasky let the debate go on for a few seconds, until everyone had had at least a say, and then broke in. _"People!_ " he said, stopping the argument in its tracks. " _Let's stay focused here. I think it's clear that we're in a bind. We obviously can't hope to defeat the Abyssals in a fleet action. However, letting them take our only trump card without a fight is also absolutely off the table. So the questions now are these: can we afford not to take the enemy offer, can we fight our way out when things go south, and do we have any other means of buying time for the evacuations?_ "

Someone Garcia didn't recognize, probably a division commander, spoke up. " _This is the first time the Abbies have offered to talk. As General Kim said, they're obviously shaken up, and if we bluff correctly we could work out some kind of truce. I don't think it's a trap, either, it's just too obvious._ "

" _No way you're trusting those alien bastards. They're just using this time to regroup, we would be idiots to fall for this! We should strike now, while they're still limping._ "

" _We can't attack, our losses are too heavy! We'd be chewed up before we got within eighty thousand klicks!_ "

" _Well, do you have a better plan? Don't forget that they asked for Forward Unto Dawn specifically. What's to stop them from putting a knife in her back as soon as she steps foot on one of their damned ships? Then we're right back to square one!_ "

Lasky nodded slowly, then raised his voice just enough to cut across the chatter. " _That's a good question, actually. Captain Garcia._ "

Garcia started. He honestly hadn't expected to be included in the discussion at all. "Y-yes sir!"

" _You've been a witness to Forward Unto Dawn's close quarters combat abilities, I presume? How would you rate them?_ "

"CQC? Um…" He thought back to the way she'd literally waded into corridors full of Abyssal troops and come out the other side no worse for the wear. "Pretty impressive. At least S-IV level in power, though technique-wise a little lacking…" A thought occurred to him then. "Why don't you ask her yourself, sir? Captain Khalid, Forward Unto Dawn is in your medbay right now, isn't she? Can you patch her through?"

Khalid glanced over. " _Yes, I could. Admiral Lasky?_ "

Wearing a world-weary expression, Lasky nodded. " _I suppose it would be best to hear this from the source. Bring her on._ " Khalid nodded and spoke to someone offscreen. " _In the meantime, Captain Liang, how long until the evacuation is complete?_ "

" _We've managed to step up the pace, but it'll still take ten hours._ " The captain shook his head and let out a sigh. " _We could get it down to eight, but we'd have to cut a lot of safety checks and protocols._ "

" _If we don't get those ships out fast, they're all dead anyway. Do it, captain._ " Liang nodded and disappeared briefly to issue the orders. " _General Kim, if the Abyssals get through, how long can the ground forces hold out?_ "

A muscle worked in Kim's jaw. " _As much as I'd like to say as long as needed… this isn't the place for that. Two, maybe three weeks maximum. Not long enough for a relief fleet to bail us out._ " He looked up, eyes narrowing. " _All the more reason for us to tell the Abbies to piss off. I accept that we can't fight them off, but Reach was never going to hold forever, so all we'd do by giving in is make sure they come back later to finish the job without interruptions. What's the most talking would buy us, a month at most?_ "

Liang sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. " _More than that, actually. By delaying their attack, we're given more time to evacuate industry and manufacturing capacity. It's not so cut and dry as that._ "

" _Hmm…_ " Lasky's brow furrowed in thought. The mood seemed to be shifting in favor of Kim, and even Garcia found himself agreeing with his logic when Khalid returned.

" _Excuse me, sir. Forward Unto Dawn is on the line_." Not for the first time, Garcia considered just how _odd_ it felt to say that. Sure, the needs and pressures of battle took his mind off it somewhat, but if— _when_ this was over, he'd need a few days and a few drinks to sort through the ramifications. Hell, just her claim that ships had actual souls, and the fact she could back it up… it made him think back, trying to remember if he'd ever kicked _Scorpia's_ walls in frustation. That alone was enough to give him a headache, forget the fact that he could casually talk with the manifestation of the legendary frigate _Forward Unto Dawn_ herself. But those were issues for another time, and copious amounts of alcohol, Garcia told himself as Khalid stepped to the side but continued speaking from offscreen. " _Admiral Lasky has some questions for you. Answer to the best of your abilities._ "

Garcia suppressed a wince as Dawn appeared in Khalid's window. The ill-fitting medbay-issue T-shirt poorly concealed the limp in her stride, as well as her heavily bandaged arm and fingers. A faint but large bruise spread across the side of her head and mixed with the light pink of a recently healed burn wound. The light of pain in her eyes shone through the haze of pseudomorphine. But she was alive and awake, and for that he could breathe a sigh of relief. " _Sirs,_ " she greeted, drawing herself up into a stiff salute. " _I don't know how much help I'll be but… I'll do my best._ " Her gaze flicked Garcia's way and a small smile tugged at her lips, but then it was gone and she fell into parade rest.

" _Thank you for joining_ us." Lasky seemed to take no notice of her injuries, though how much of that was just a facade Garcia couldn't tell. He, at least, seemed to be handling the impossibility of the situation quite well. " _Have you seen the message?_ "

Dawn nodded like a condemned man. " _Yes, sir. If you want me to surrender myself, I'll do it. I understand we don't have much of a chance otherwise._ "

"Now hold on, no one's decided anything yet." Garcia leaned forward against the desk, shooting a pointed look Lasky's way. "We need some more info from you before we make a decision."

" _Mind your place, captain,_ " Lasky warned, " _you're treading the line. Though you are right._ " He seemed satisfied when Garcia bowed his head in apology. " _Forward Unto Dawn,_ " he continued, and the girl shifted her eyes back to Lasky, but not before sending a grateful nod Garcia's way. " _How do you evaluate your current combat abilities?_ "

" _Hm…_ " She experimentally stretched out her shoulder and neck. " _I'd say I'm at about forty percent capacity right now, sir. In more concrete terms, I could probably fight an ODST to a draw, but add another one in and my as— excuse me. I'd be beat. Why?_ "

" _We're debating accepting the enemy's offer of parley. However, they've made it clear that they'll accept only you, which puts us in a bit of a bind if they break their word and jump you._ " Lasky's tone made it clear just how much stock he put in the good faith of aliens. " _I'm loathe to say it, but you are our trump card and we're not about to just give you up, but at the same time you're obviously in no shape to join the battleline and the fleet can't win on its own. If we sent you to talk, could you fight your way out when it comes to that?_ "

Dawn mimed a punch followed by a block, then winced as something twinged. " _Well, it'd help if I knew what I'd be talking about, sir. If they're just going to be making demands things could go sour quick, but if we're actually talking truce I could get something going._ "

Lasky shrugged helplessly. " _It's not like the Abbies set an agenda or anything. I suppose you'll just have to go in and improvise. At the very least try to talk some useful intel out of them, or just stall them with small-talk. Of course, if you do manage to talk out a truce… but that's probably a pipe dream. As long as you fulfill their terms and get out of there, I'll consider that a success._ "

Nodding her understanding, Dawn chewed her lip in thought. " _Give me a dose of rumbledrugs and I think I might be at seventy percent for a solid few hours before I metabolize it out. At that level, I could raise some hell._ "

Kim frowned in distaste. " _Rumbledrugs? That stuff is—_ "

" _Terrible for me, I know, sir. It'll eat away at me from the inside, and at a high enough concentration it'll drive me insane. I have the manuals in here._ " She tapped the side of her head. " _But I can stay cool for a few hours with a low dosage, just enough to blow past the pain._ "

"She's right," Garcia added, starting to come around to this plan and recalling something that could strengthen the argument. "She has some kind of accelerated tissue regeneration factor. Besides the obvious speedy recovery from combat, she worked for an hour without protection in a high-radiation environment to stabilize Turul's reactors, and only came out with a mild burn. I think a little chemical exposure won't cripple her."

" _It wasn't all that special…_ " Dawn murmured, rubbing the back of her head in embarrassment.

Still looking dissatisfied, Kim continued to voice his objections. " _That's all well and good, but what about the mental effects? There are records of Insurrectionists snapping and turning on their own; can you guarantee that won't happen to you?_ "

Unfortunately, the general raised a good point. Looking at Dawn, Garcia could tell she didn't know the answer herself. Ultimately though, it wasn't Kim that they needed to convince, but Lasky, and he knew the admiral to be more amenable to compromise.

This time, as Garcia tried to think of a solution, Khalid put in his two cents. " _I have an idea. My corpsmen can rig up an auto-injector that can provide the drug as needed, as well as a monitoring system that will prevent any ill effects from happening. In addition, they can modify it to send data back, so we can consider this an intel-gathering mission as well. After all, nobody's ever gone this close to an Abyssal ship before. They produce some spooky effects at a distance, who's to say what happens up close?_ "

Dawn nodded in agreement. " _That'd work. I can link it in with my own systems to give more accurate readings. Besides, I don't think it'll come to that. Worst comes to worst… I won't let it._ " The steel in her eyes dissuaded anyone from questioning her conviction.

" _Hmph. That does make sense,_ " Kim conceded. A glint in his eye told Garcia he wasn't done yet, but his next question still caught everyone off guard. " _And how do we know you won't just sell us to the Abyssals to save your own skin?_ "

"Why you—" Garcia started angrily before biting his tongue. Thankfully, it appeared his outburst had gone relatively unnoticed in the outbreak of muttering. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so defensive of Dawn, only that he couldn't stand to have Kim question the loyalty of someone who'd already bled for the UNSC. That, and he was afraid that Dawn would snap back, and that kind of a display would only prove the general's point.

Luckily though, she showed more restraint than he'd given her credit for. " _You don't know,_ " she admitted in a weary, subdued tone. "Y _ou don't know._ " Then she lifted her gaze and made eye contact with Kim. " _But when you think about it, what have you got to lose? If I'm a double agent do you really want to keep me in the fleet, where I can keep spying and sending back intel? Or would you want to be rid of me as soon as possible? Honestly, I've made my presence known for what, a few days? What could I possibly have learned in that time that could change the situation here? It's not like I've had access to any high-level databases or—_ "

" _If it's that much of a concern, we can rig up an explosive collar or something along those lines,_ " Khalid quickly cut in. Dawn looked slightly queasy at the prospect but nodded her consent anyway. " _Any further questions, general?_ "

" _Thank you, that is quite enough_." Kim waved his hand dismissively, then leaned closer as if to study Dawn. For a moment, nobody spoke. " _For the record, I'm still not comfortable with the risk here. But there is a slight chance talking could prove productive… in the end, it's your decision, admiral._ "

" _Thank you, General. Captain Liang, anything else to add?_ "

" _Only that we should try to avoid further battle as much as possible,_ " he said, reappearing in his window. " _People and aliens alike tend to say more than they should if you just keep them talking. This could be a golden opportunity for intel; don't blow it by being stupid._ "

Dawn nodded her understanding. Lasky nodded as well, a determined set to his jaw. " _Alright, then. I wish there was another way, or someone else we could send, but… Forward Unto Dawn, I am ordering you to meet with the enemy and attempt to negotiate a truce. Failing that, you are to fight your way out and regroup with the fleet. You will be equipped with monitoring devices, both to gather intel and to ensure your loyalty. Understood?_ " She nodded again, subtly fidgeting and obviously eager to get moving. " _Very well. The rest of the fleet will be on standby to intervene if something goes wrong. You are all now dismissed._ " Garcia was about to log off when Lasky called out. " _Captain Garcia, may I have a word?_ "

"O-of course." Lasky waited until the rest of the conference went dark before turning his full attention on the nervous captain.

" _Don't think I didn't notice that outburst. Forward Unto Dawn is still an unknown factor; you'd be wise not to get too attached._ "

"Y-yes sir, of course."

" _Good. That said, I know the Abyssal terms, but I'll be damned if I'm sending her in without any support at all._ "

"Well, I feel the same, sir, but we can't get a ship within eighty thousand klicks and they'll only play along if she goes alone, right?"

" _Right, but I believe that we actually have one more card up our sleeves, one that the Abyssals might have forgotten about. Captain, how many nukes does_ Scorpia _have left?_ "

"Nukes? Eight, I believe. Do you have something in mind, sir?"

Lasky smiled an enigmatic smile. " _It may just be a good thing you're stuck on that moon, captain. A very good thing._ "


	4. Chapter 4

"Make a path, make a path!"

"Make way, idiots! Make way!"

Office of Naval Intelligence Junior Field Agent (Probationary) Berlin stood up with a pained grunt and moved out of the way of the cart and its marine escort, the third in twenty minutes. She thought about taking a peek at the large crate under the heavy plastic tarp, but a nasty case of side-eye from one of the marines neatly put an end to that impulse. Her ONI credentials didn't go for much around here; better to stay on their good side.

"Probably not the best place to sit… _Scheiße_." One of the stitched up cuts on her inner forearm was bleeding again, further staining her already ruined uniform. To add insult to injury, this one wasn't even a result of combat like the others, just of cutting herself on a shard of metal while clearing debris. She'd given the most embarrassing yelp when the corpsman stitched her up… and now it was open again. The memory alone was enough to make her groan out loud and drop her face into her hands. "Better go get it fixed again… with my luck, it'll be the same guy," she mumbled.

Ambling down the hallway towards an aid station, Berlin had to duck under a door jammed half-open. In lieu of proper repairs, someone wedged a sturdy piece of metal between it and the floor to keep it from slamming shut on some unfortunate soul. As she emerged on the other side, she collided with another body.

"Oof! Watch it, you—!" She took a deep breath and mentally checked herself. She was too on edge, she could already hear Beijing lecturing her. "I mean… sorry. Are you okay?"

"Fuck's it to you?" the sailor growled. She roughly shouldered past Berlin and crouched under the same door, dragging a trolley with a bulky sealed crate maglocked to it. Another sailor followed her, pushing from the other side. "Fuckin' spook… stay outta the way," he added, sending Berlin a suspicious glare as he labored to get the bulky package through the gap.

The agent stood stock-still as they passed out of sight, hand raised in apology. "Well, good day to you too," she muttered, lowering her hand and checking to make sure she hadn't dropped her datapad during the bump. "Why do I even try…"

Further along the hall, the smell of ozone and cigarettes wafted past her. A civilian work party followed moments later, hauling several bulky welding units and smoking in open defiance of the signs on the walls. Berlin moved aside to let them pass, wrinkling her nose at the acrid stench of tobacco smoke. The civilians sized her up as they passed, eyes lingering on the small ONI insignia on her shoulder. A sharp glance sent them scurrying off.

Turning a corner, Berlin stepped past two sets of double doors hastily plastered over with emergency notices and directions, through a small antechamber, and into a large, round room crowded with humanity. Lost, injured and exhausted civilians huddled together on dirty plastic squares, shivering at every misplaced clang and footstep. They gave Berlin a wide berth as she passed, remaining silent even as her bootprints soiled their UNSC-issue blankets and blood from her cut dripped onto their tarps. Soldiers patrolled between them, eyes sharp and wary, fingers lingering over their triggers. From the ways their eyes darted around, they seemed a sneeze away from filling her with bullets. She resolved to keep her distance.

"Stay in line, wait your turn! Stay in line!" A med-station occupied a small off-shoot, large enough to hold a few examination tables and associated equipment. Berlin quietly entered the back of the line and watched the team of corpsmen as they worked quickly and efficiently, treating what they could and sending what they couldn't away on stretchers. Despite their efforts, though, the queue grew steadily larger and rowdier and the troops on crowd-control grew twitchier and twitchier.

"Sir, stay in the line! Your turn will come!" A soldier stood off against a large, burly civilian in a dock worker's jumpsuit. Sweat beaded on the man's forehead above the remarkable shade of red coloring his round cheeks as he waved his arms and ranted.

"Fuck you!" The man took a step forward, puffing himself up above the soldier. "I've worked and lived here for years, and you fuckers think you can waltz in and take over and send me to the back?! Fuck you! You brought the Abbies here in the first place, this is all your fucking fault!"

"Sir, nobody is telling you to go to the back. I'm only asking you to wait your turn!"

"Fuck that! You get us more meds and food right now, or we'll take this fucking moon for ourselves!" He raised his arms in the air and turned to the other civilians, continuing to shout and agitate. Safeties began clicking off as more civilians started nodding along with the man. The soldier backed up, as other asked for orders over the radio, but based on the spreading mutters and rising fists, those orders might come too late. Berlin knew the rules of engagement prevented them from subduing the crowd before it turned violent… but ONI had never felt particularly bound by rules, had it?

"Civilians in Sector 5-Central are becoming agitated. Requesting permission to move in—ah!" The soldier spun around as Berlin walked up next to her, rifle halfway up. "What the hell do you want?"

"I have some experience with disciplining dogs," she replied, pointing her chin at the burly man. "Might I take a stab?"

"…" The soldier glanced at her ONI logo. "… go ahead." She then turned away and continued speaking into her radio, asking for reinforcements.

"'You're very welcome'," Berlin mimed. She sighed and hooked her thumbs in her pockets, adopting a slumped posture and pleasant expression. "Excuse me, sir!" she called to the burly man, eyeing the union patch on his shoulder. "I couldn't help but notice you're a part of the Eridani Dockworkers Union."

The man turned and squared up to her, thrusting out his chest and making Berlin feel every inch that her 5'-6" frame lacked. "So I am. Why the hell do you care?"

She put on a defensive air and backed up a couple of steps, turning to hide her insignia and holding up her datapad. "I'm conducting a survey of what makes people prefer the EDU over United Dockworkers. What benefits do you feel EDU provides over a more widespread organization?"

"Survey _this_ , UNSC fucker." He spat next to her boots and glared at her. "You'll get yours soon enough."

Berlin nodded in an absentminded sort of way, then turned back to the soldier and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Private, this man just threatened a Field Agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence. On my authority, arrest him."

The soldier blinked and gave her a second, closer look, then nodded. "Gladly. Jack, help me out here!"

"Hey, what, you can't—" Bravado gone, the man backed up, looking to the suddenly quiet civilians for support and finding none. In desperation, he took a clumsy swing at the closest soldier and missed. "Don't touch me—agh!"

As the soldiers beat the man into bloody submission and hauled him away, Berlin cast a cold gaze over the chastened crowd. "As for the rest, consider yourselves dispersed for agitation." A few looked defiant, but no one seriously wanted to mess with the five soldiers behind her leveling their guns and fingering shock batons. Her lip curled into a sneer at their lack of movement. "Did I stutter, worms? _Disperse._ " Turning to a soldier with sergeant's insignia on his shouders, she murmured, "Keep a closer eye on these idiots. There's some shifty looks going around."

The sergeant bobbed his head. "Will do, Agent. And… thank you. I guess." His tone was wary and his gaze cold, but maybe a little less so than before, and Berlin decided that that counted as a job well done. And, as a pleasant bonus, she was the only person in line for the med-station.

"Quite the show there," a corpsman said as Berlin approached. She matched the agent's flat stare through her protective glasses, tired and irritated eyes meeting each other. "Really appreciate you cracking that guy on the head. I love having more work on our hands, really makes my day."

"You're very welcome," she grumbled, sticking her bleeding arm out. "The stitches came out; is that too much work for you?"

"Might just be, with that lip." The corpsman liberally sprayed a metal examination table down with bleach and beckoned for Berlin to lay her arm out. "Come here, let me see. No jerking around! Or this suture'll go somewhere more fun for me than you."

"Yeah, yeah, _Scheiße!_ " Berlin hissed as an antiseptic wipe brushed across her wound. "No, no, I'm okay. What's, uh, what's your name?" she asked, trying to ignore the pain.

"Chiho Hikowa. This will hurt, but you're ONI, so don't be a bitch." Hikowa pressed a hypospray of anesthetic firmly but not roughly against Berlin's skin around her wound, then flipped a pair of surgical loupes over her glasses. "Ah, that _is_ nasty. How'd you get it? Battle wound?"

"…" Berlin mumbled indistinctly. Hikowa leaned in and made a 'speak up' motion. "… cut myself clearing debris."

"Awwww, was our little spook doing some community service?" Hikowa grinned mischievously, then checked her watch. "Alright, painkillers should be in effect now. Here I go…" She drew out a pair of sterile disposable tweezers and poked into the wound. "Was it aching before the stitches broke?" At Berlin's nod, she grunted, "No wonder. There's a small splinter still in here… super-duper easy to miss." She slowly and gingerly extracted it, placed it on a tray, and used a disinfectant pad to wipe up some more bleeding. "Okay, hold still. Stitches going in now." Berlin refused to look away as the the needle and thread wove through skin and muscle, knitting her arm back together. "Okay, all done. I'll wrap a bandage around it too. Come back if it hurts excessively, won't stop bleeding, or becomes discolored. Anything else before you skulk off to wherever it is spooks go?"

"Um…" Berlin watched as Hikowa pulled off her examination gloves and tossed them in the trash, then started to clean up her workstation. Maybe she could tell her something about those mystery crates… but how to get her guard down "Actually, I couldn't help but notice… are your hands shaking a little?"

Hikowa's hands instantly stilled before the corpsman gave a low chuckle. "Guess you caught me. Figures a spook would see." She set down a pair of scissors and let her head hang, letting out a bone-weary sigh. "Dunno. I guess… well, I'm from _Scorpia_. You know, the wreck laid up in the dock right now? The one they're moving nukes off of? She barely got out of Roseport alive, but if we hadn't taken so much damage…" She waved a hand in the air. "We'd be out there, fighting on the line, probably dead right now. Hell, we'd be dead anyway, if it weren't for that… that girl, which I'm still in shock about, I'll have you know. So… every now and then it hits me how fucking lucky I am to be alive… and how many people weren't so lucky. And it's scary." She looked up, eyebrow raised. "Why're you suddenly so curious, anyway?"

"…" Berlin pressed her lips into a thin line against memories of freezing city streets. "… believe it nor not, I can relate. But more importantly—" She abruptly leaned in. "What was that about nukes?"

* * *

The floor was littered with debris, one of the lights kept flickering, the desk would probably never be tidy again, but sitting in an office, even a temporary one, gave Garcia a sense of calm. Here, he could plan. Other people considered the office a trap, but right now, with a data pad in front of him, a pot of coffee on the side and quiet hum of life support and voices, it was a refuge.

"Garcia! You've got some nerve!"

"Hey, wait, you can't come—listen to me!"

Garcia closed his eyes and pressed his fingernails into his forehead, counting to five and waiting for the problem to go away on its own. When it didn't, he opened them back up, forced a smile and clapped for attention.

"Okay, everyone! Take ten, grab some food and water, find your relief if you need to. We still got a long way ahead of us." He nodded at the marine at the door, trying valiantly to prevent a 5'-6" ball of fury from entering. "It's okay, take a break. I'll deal with this."

The marine hesitated, then reluctantly got out of the way and left the room. That left just Garcia, the office, and one short and _very_ piqued rookie ONI agent. "Agent Berlin!" Garcia held his smile as she came to a fuming halt in front of his desk. "This is a surprise. How are you?"

"Spare me the crap, Captain." Berlin brought her palms down hard on the desktop and leaned forwards. "You've been keeping me in the dark, and _no one_ keeps secrets from me."

In an ONI interrogation cell, he'd have been spilling his deepest secrets and his mother's as well. As it was, Garcia had a pretty good idea what she was talking about, but seeing an ONI agent this irritated yet impotent was a unique sight indeed. It was probably bad for his lifespan, but he wanted to see just how far he could string her along. "Whatever are you talking about, Agent Berlin? I've been completely cooperative with your requests."

"Bull-fucking-shit. I don't know if you're doing this on your own, or if it's Lasky's orders, but if you thought you could pull this stunt under my nose you've got another one coming!"

"You still haven't told me what I haven't told you, you know?"

"The _nukes_ , Garcia. Why are you moving nukes through the station?"

"… that's strictly need-to-know. Operational security—"

"That's not how it works, Captain." With a beep, the office door locked itself. Garcia shot up, mouth half-open to call for a guard before remembering he'd sent them all away. Swallowing, he looked down at Berlin, sitting on a revolving chair she'd drawn up from somewhere. "I am an ONI agent. I _am_ OpSec." Her change in demeanor was striking; she leaned back, relaxed, hands laced behind her head like she had all the time in the world. "Oh, and don't bother calling for help. The base systems respond to my override, and there will be no communications going out of this room until you and I have a nice, long chat about what exactly the hell is going on. So please," A smirk on her face, she helped herself to his coffee and motioned for him to sit. "Let's have a talk."

His eyes flicked around the room, halfheartedly looking for a way out he knew wasn't there. "Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Garcia sat heavily, feeling every hour of work in his bones, and massaged his temples. "I guess someone like you'd eventually find out one way or another…" Berlin gave an unapologetic shrug. "Alright, fine. But people will be coming back in ten minutes. If they find the door locked… well, does ONI training cover a dozen angry marines?"

"You'd be surprised. Now, talk. What's changed on the outside? Those nukes aren't being moved into demolition position, so it's not a scorched earth situation yet, but it's obvious you're planning something." She took a sip from the cup and raised her eyebrows. "Oh, that's good."

"Yes, and it's mine." Pulling the pot closer, Garcia tapped his datapad and brought up Lasky's orders. "Who did you find out from? I gave strict instructions to keep those things sealed and covered. I'm going to have to have a little chat about discretion."

"I protect my sources." Berlin, slid the datapad to her side and quickly read through the orders. Then read them again, eyes narrowing. " _Was zur Hölle_?"

"Didn't see this one coming, did you?"

"No. No, I really didn't." Berlin dropped the data pad on the table and ran a hand over her face. " _Mein Gott,_ I am tired of this war."

"Tell me about it." Garcia took a slug of coffee, warming his insides with the drink. "I'm starting to think humanity might never see a peaceful age."

"It seems to be our lot, doesn't it?" Berlin drank her own coffee morosely. "Fighting the aliens is just a break from fighting ourselves, and if we don't have a reason to fight we'll find one." She arched a look at Garcia over the rim of her mug. "You Navy types, I know you don't like ONI. You find us distasteful. But what we do allows you to hold onto your honor, to pretend like you're fighting for peace when there's really only more war. You think we're some sort of nefarious shadow government, pulling all the strings, but if we went away, the things you'd have to do to keep a semblance of peace would have men and women deserting by the thousands."

"I never said anything about not liking ONI. And I can acknowledge what you do is necessary without liking how you do it," Garcia countered. "Besides, it's not like you've never stirred up war where it suited you in the past."

"Only in the name of peace." She waved the subject away. "On a more pertinent subject, Forward Unto Dawn. Do you think she's what she really claims to be?"

Garcia rolled his eyes and barely held back an exasperated sigh. "If I had a credit for everyone who asked me that… the answer is I don't know. I just don't know." He shook his head and drained his coffee. "She very well could be. I'm not about to argue with that kind of power. But at the same time, if she really is… well, if I was the type of man to work for ONI, I'd be a little worried about her loyalties."

Berlin raised an eyebrow. "Spill."

"Well, if she _is_ Forward Unto Dawn, she's already spent an entire lifetime fighting and dying for humanity and the UNSC, right? We've had soldiers, admirals, hell, even Spartans crack after that. But now, if this is her second life, and the first thing she's got to do is do it all over again?" Garcia placed his hands on the table, fingers laced together and palms up. "Well… it's a lot."

"I see your point. I hate it, but I see it."

"Yeah. But, really, what's the point of arguing about it? She tore through two dozen Abyssal ships and asked for seconds; what could we really do against her? It's all just a mess, and I'm just trying to muddle my way through."

"Yeah. It's all a big fucking mess." She slumped into the nearest chair without permission and kicked her boots up on the table. Sighing loudly over Garcia's feeble protests, she dropped her head back and flung her arms out. "Speaking of messes, did you know this was my first independent assignment?"

Garcia raised an eyebrow, tone and expression the definitions of dull surprise. "Really now? I couldn't tell at all."

"Fuck off." With blood beginning to pool in and make her head pound, Berlin leaned back forwards and rubbed her face with one hand. "Just a simple assignment. Gather information, compile a report, submit for further review. Basic skills, then move onto more complicated things… and then this happened. What the hell am I supposed to put in my report now?!" She raised her head and glared at Garcia. "This is your fault."

His face turned an intriguing shade of red. "My fault? How the hell is this my fault?!"

"It's all because of that that ship-girl-spirit-demon-whatever person! There are protocols for sudden invasions in the middle of missions! I would have just made a small addition to my report, filed a form, and hey presto everything's taken care of. But now? There's no protocol for this! It's all messed up, and since she spawned on your ship, I'm sure you're at fault somehow!" Letting out a strangled, stress-induced groan, she pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough to leave a mark. "I'm gonna be under investigation for weeks, I'm going to look incompetent, I fucked up the simplest goddamn thing!"

Garcia shook his head in disbelief, but something as mundane as an ONI agent's career troubles was surprisingly refreshing in a _schadenfreude_ sort of way. He was about to reply when he noticed the timer he'd set on the corner of his desk.

"Ah, the mission's about to start. I'd ask if you'd like to watch, but I doubt my permission means jack to you." Garcia pressed a few buttons on his datapad, causing it to project onto a larger screen mounted on the wall. "Care to join me? We can see Dawn's loyalties for ourselves."

"Don't mind if I do. I'll unlock the door, too." As people began filtering back into the office, half-eaten sandwiches and large cups of steaming coffee in hand, giving curious looks to the ONI agent calmly chatting with their captain, she sat back and kicked her legs up onto the desk. "Let's see what this spirit of yours can do."

* * *

" _Gun it, Chief! Jump! Floor it! Right into the hangar!_ "

" _If we don't make it…_ "

" _We'll make it._ "

" _Wake me. When you need me._ "

" _Wake up, Chief._ "

" _I need you._ "

Dawn opened her eyes with a gasp. She shot up straight, nearly slamming her head against the passenger bay's low overhead compartments. The last whispers of a fitful dream lingered in her ears as she let out a deep breath. "Only a dream," she said, gently touching the scar which circled her stomach and lower back. "Only a dream," she repeated.

"All okay?" The corpsman across from her leaned forwards, concern on his face. "You were muttering in your sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm… okay. Good." Dawn absentmindedly tugged at the auto injectors strapped to her arm, steadily drip-feeding a mix of painkillers, combat drugs, and saline hydration solution into her veins. It was enough to stop a grown man's heart, but in her bloodstream all the cocktail could do was dull her hastily treated wounds into an ignorable background ache while sharpening her senses and reinforcing her abused and aching muscles. She almost felt fighting fit again… but only just, and as soon as the drugs ran out she'd be a mewling puddle on the floor. "This thing is just… I don't like having to rely on it."

"Sorry, but we need you in shape right now, even if just for a few hours more. Are your injuries bothering you? I can adjust the dosage."

"No, no, they're fine. If you really want to help, you can get this thing off." She pointed to the collar around her neck, an unobtrusive band of metal packed with explosives and quantum-linked to a detonator on board the _Infinity._ 'Think of it as a test of the latest in prisoner-control technologies,' the technician who fitted her with it quipped. Dawn somehow failed to find the humor in her words.

The corpsman grimaced and shook his head. "Again, sorry. Admiral's orders. For what it's worth, I don't like it either." He glanced at a readout on his wrist-mounted datapad. "Well, your vitals are within the previously observed range. Given what you are, I don't know that that means jack, but everything seems good to go, beside an elevated cortisol level." He looked up, smiling slightly. "Nervous?"

"No, I am absolutely confident that I will go in and charm the pants off these aliens, stay alive through the entire thing, save humanity and end singing 'Kumbaya' around the campfire," she snapped, then took a deep breath to check her surging stress levels. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

"Whatever." The corpsman waved a dismissive hand. "Not gonna pretend like I've never gone off on someone. Are you… off the record, are you really okay with doing this?"

Dawn pressed her lips together and bowed her head. "… well, it's got to be done, doesn't it? My feelings won't change a thing."

Before the corpsman could respond, a knock on the hull and the gentle hand of deceleration shook the last vestiges of sleep from her brain. " _Wakey wakey, have a nice rest?_ " the pilot said over the Pelican's intercom.

"No," she groaned, earning a chuckle in response. "I think I got run over by a tank."

" _Sounds like an average day of shore leave. This is as far as I can go._ " The whine of the engines disappeared, leaving the passenger bay in silence. " _It's your show from here._ "

"Thank you," she replied, removing her safety harness and stretching out. A hiss escaped her as the corpsman helped her stand, teeth grinding against the deep ache in her muscles and bones and the way her barely-healed burns rubbed against her clothes. _Eternal_ 's corpsmen did their best in the time they had, but every single part of her still felt stiff and wrung out, not helped by her awkward sleeping position. Part of her doubted her neck and spine would ever straighten out again. Gingerly, she ran a finger over her numerous cuts and puncture wounds, still red and raw, making sure they wouldn't suddenly open on her.

The corpsman gave her a final once-over, expression resigned. "Well, I really do hate to be the one to send you out like this, but we've done all we can and like you say, what's gotta be done's gotta be done. Stay safe, you hear me? Don't let our hard work going to waste."

"Understood. You too, you hear me? And you in the cockpit as well."

" _Wilco._ " With that, the rear ramp dropped, and Dawn stepped out into nothingness. " _Recovery One away. Good luck down there, out._ " Turning around, she caught one final view of the corpsman waving out the closing ramp before the light cut off and the Pelican accelerated away, hightailing it back to the fleet.

"Understood." A few seconds of concentration called her ship-form into being… part of it, at least. With only her propulsion, helmet, a smattering of armor plate around her arms, and half her normal PDC and missile suite, Dawn felt rather vulnerable compared to her fully equipped state. However, painful experimentation had shown that, for now, this was as much as she could manifest without starting to bleed all over the floor. It seemed that wounds acquired in rigging stayed with her rigging. " _Infinity,_ this is Forward Unto Dawn. Are you receiving me, over?"

" _Solid copy, reading you five by five. Audiovisual telemetry and vitals monitoring are green, over._ "

The explosive collar hung heavy. "Copy _Infinity_ , I'm approaching the enemy fleet now. Over."

Radar contact with UNSC ships grew spotty, replaced by the blinking red dots of hundreds of Abyssal warships. As she crossed no-man's-land, the Abyssal fleet loomed large in front of her, all sleek black-purple hulls, strange, flowing geometries, and bristling with weapons and unfriendly intentions. Her breathing sped up and her skin itched as she passed the outer pickets and felt their sensors lock onto her. All that bravado she'd put up in front of General Kim deserted her, and she gulped as a pair of picket cruisers and a destroyer division broke off to match her vector.

"God, what the hell am I doing…?" She eyed them, staring down the bores of cannons twice as large as her head and trying to see if they were turning to bring weapons to bear. Though the muzzles of their main batteries loomed large, the turrets dotting their flanks didn't seem to be pointing at her. "Helm, set a course for the target."

 _Understood. Setting acceleration course._

The cruisers did not attempt to force her onto any specific path, instead constantly trailing just a few dozen kilometers behind like a pair of extraterrestrial hunting dogs. Dawn flipped them off to make herself feel better, watching the distance to the Abyssal flagship grow smaller and smaller. Fighter squadrons flew by in lazy formation while the bulk of battleships hung around her, an obvious show of force that was very, very effective. This close, she could feel her skin crawling in a way that was decidedly _not_ kosher.

Dawn opened up an internal channel to her bridge crew. "Hey guys, do these guys creep you out too?" No response, of course, but anything to break the silence. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the Covies are pretty off-kilter, but this is something else." Beyond the obvious danger they represented, there was just something about them, something almost… "Steady there," she muttered to herself, "focus. Don't go thinking about things that ain't relevant. Time enough for that later." Yet even as she fixed her eyes forwards, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling, one that made her shiver and want to rub her arms, that there was something _familiar_ about these new aliens.

Familiar, yet otherworldly at the same time. That much was clear as she decelerated the last few hundred kilometers to her objective. Her crew was deathly silent, one eye on their stations and another on the ship looming in the armor-reinforced windows. It hung in orbit in front of the backdrop of Turul's cratered exterior, backlit by the light reflected off the moon's surface. Dawn could feel eyes all over the fleet looking alongside her, through the feed of her helmet cam. The smooth metal hull began to grow lumps and crevices, turrets and missile pods, impact craters and plasma scars as she hit five kilometers separation, the surface quickly rising to meet her and fill her horizon. A small blue light appeared, pulsing, and Dawn guessed that was where she was meant to go. She course corrected towards it, every nerve on fire, body coursing with adrenaline both natural and injected.

As Dawn slowly fell the last few dozen meters to the titanic Abyssal warship, the source of the light grew clear. A slim, pale figure, humanoid in form, with one blazing blue light where an eye would have been on a human stood out in the vacuum, evidently waiting for her. Dawn could make out some sort of metal harness, similar to her own rigging, attached to the thing's body, with other pieces of unknown function hovering in its proximity. The parts of it not covered by armor were a pasty grey-white that could have been skin or some sort of cloth. A She landed about ten meters away and fell into a guarded stance, ready to fight, talk, or flee as needed. The figure lowered its head, allowing long, silver hair to fall around its shoulders, and met Dawn's eyes with its one.

"So you came."

* * *

"I read some interference in the feed."

"Copy. Increase frequency cycling on arrays four and five."

The comms officers gave no hint of noticing the oppressive aura that filled the room. Lasky reached up to loosen his collar and glanced around the CIC. Roland manifested in the center of the display, surrounded by floating video feeds and charts. Captain Shen stood on the other side of the room, leaning over a tactical officer's shoulder. Several intelligence officers pored over the incoming data, murmuring excitedly to each other.

" _Well, if that's not unsettling then I'm a chatbot._ " Amidst a swirl of reports and data, Roland somehow found time to comment on the grainy incoming video. " _Apart from the uninspired color palette, floaty metal bits, cartoon eye and affinity for sucking on hard vacuum, that thing almost looks human._ "

"Focus, Roland. Give me an update on fleet disposition."

" _All units on station and maintaining position. Repairs and tests are underway on critical equipment. Enemy deployment has not changed._ " With a wave of his hand, Roland clipped a small portion and put it on replay. Studying it closely, he continued his train of thought. " _Now, I'm not trying to imply anything — yet — but does that sound like anyone we know?_ "

"It's a little late to voice doubts," Lasky said crossly. "And we have our friends in intelligence here to analyze the footage. Shouldn't you be focusing your efforts elsewhere?"

" _I'm wounded, Admiral. Surely you aren't implying I don't have the processing capacity for both?_ "

"Not at all, but part of your job is monitoring and reporting fleet status."

" _We have our friends in the CIC here to give those reports. Speaking of which, here are a few now._ " Roland pointed behind Lasky.

"Give me a second." He motioned for the officers in question to proceed. "Update me."

The comms officers looked at each other, then shrugged and forged on. "Cruisers _Leyte Gulf, Gibraltar_ , _Red Cliffs_ , and battleship _Lugh_ report power failure upon charging main battery, request permission to fall back to Reach orbit to repair."

"Evacuation of critical personnel and equipment complete. General evacuation seventy percent complete."

"Rioting has broken out on Manassas station. Security forces are deploying narcozine gas."

" _Essex_ reports that launch and recovery mechanisms remain inoperable, requests to transfer aerospace assets to other units and retreat."

"Granted, continue with the evacuation, refrain from escalating unless absolutely necessary, granted." Lasky turned back to the yellow AI, now comparing two videos side by side. "In any case, we're too committed to be doubting ourselves now. We'll just have to trust that Forward Unto Dawn is on our side — and that we can back her up when the Abyssals suddenly but inevitably betray us."

" _Is it really betrayal when they were never on our side?_ "

* * *

The English coming out of the alien's mouth was a little surprising, but honestly not even close to the weirdest thing Dawn had seen all day. "Yeah. I did." Trying to maintain a relaxed appearance, Dawn made sure that the small camera clipped to her helmet wasn't wobbling too much. "I heard you wanted to talk."

"Mm. We did say that, didn't we?" Its voice sounded like two people overlaid on one another, voices clashing and discordant. The Abyssal fell silent, arms crossed and head cocked to one side like a curious child. Dawn shifted uncomfortably under its gaze, keenly aware of the many ears listening in on the conversation. After a few seconds of that, with the Abyssal not moving an inch and Dawn's squirming growing more pronounced, she couldn't take it any longer. "Well?!" she burst out, "I'm here now, aren't I? What are we talking about?"

An infuriatingly triumphant and startlingly human smirk spread on the Abyssal's expression, causing Dawn to snarl. "What a petulant little puppy. Haven't your masters taught you not to bark?"

"The only one who's barking is you, alien scumbag!" Fuming, Dawn took a deep breath and calmed herself. _Stay cool, stay professional. There's more at stake than your pride._ "Okay, fine. Let's get down to business. Unless you just called just to chat?"

"Hardly. Talking to humans is like talking to a Grunt. It makes us feel stupid and dirty." A few unhelpful semi-offended snorts and chuckles came through Dawn's radio. She gave her earpiece a good whack as the Abyssal waved a dismissive hand, uncrossing its arms and standing up straight. "However, we do have a proposition to convey to you."

"Oh yeah?" Dawn folded her arms, trying to look uninterested. "I'm all ears."

"Very well. It should be simple enough for you to understand." The Abyssal raised a languid finger and pointed it straight at her. "You surrender and submit to capture. In return, we will withdraw from this system and conduct no further attacks for a span of 20 days. That should be sufficient time for you to perform evacuations or strengthen defenses or do whatever you see fit."

"…" Dawn had seen this one coming from an AU away, as had the various intel officers who'd given her a crash course in negotiations. The prepared response to this kind of offer was 'no'. It was easy in theory… but how the Abyssal would respond was another question entirely. A quick mental command increased the trickle of combat drugs into her veins, preparing her for combat. "I'm sure you can figure out my answer to that one."

The Abyssal tilted its head. "Are you sure? Look at yourself. You can hardly stand. And don't try to bluff your way through us, you stink of chemicals." It waved it hand in front of its nose… or where its nose would have been, had the metal plate which covered its other eye not extended down that far.

"Yeah, well, cinnamon and vanilla are chemicals too, and people like those," Dawn muttered defensively. "Besides, so what? Even if I smell like a rat's ass — which I might, honestly — I can stand long enough."

"We shall see. In any case, do not dance around the question. What is your answer?"

"It's a hard 'no' from me. Non. Nein. Nyet." She leveled a finger at the Abyssal. "Here's my counter-offer: you and your buddies take yourselves, take your ships, take each and every one of you, fuck off to some other galaxy and never come back. In return, I might not find your planets and turn them into ash. Deal?"

"Tempting," the Abyssal said dryly, "and bold. We are amused. But do not make threats you do not have the strength to make good on."

"And how do you know for sure that we don't?"

"We know many things. Things that you don't want us to know. Things that you don't even know you don't know."

"'Know' doesn't even sound like a word anymore," Dawn complained. "But alright. So your answer is 'no' — ugh, fuck that sound! Then we appear to be at an impasse." She crouched ever so slightly, getting ready to either charge or retreat, fire her MAC or pull out a weapon out of her extensive armory, whatever the situation called for. "Have any more 'offers'?"

"Naturally." The Abyssal suddenly took a step forwards, sending Dawn hopping half a step back before she caught herself. "We never really expected you to say yes, but did have hopes that appealing to rationality might produce a breakthrough. Evidently, that was not the case. Therefore, we shall appeal to something else."

"Oh yeah? What, money? Power? Honor and glory. What's it going to be?"

"Something which we dearly hope you possess." The Abyssal pointed at Dawn's head. "Your instinct for self-preservation." Before Dawn could open her mouth, it continued. "You have clearly seen, and fought, the strength of our forces. Having only lived a few days, you almost died in the process. What if we told you this was only a fraction of a fraction of our true power? Could you do it again, and again, and again and again and again? When will your luck run out?" It spread its arms and tilted its head back, eye flicking up towards the uncaring stars. "And while you think about that, mull over this, too. Surely you want to experience more of what life has to offer? You have already had a life of fighting and suffering, why should your second life be the same? We know what you want: to taste good food, to feel a warm sun on your skin, to walk through a city, to lay in a field of grass, to breathe fresh air. Simple desires, but ones you cannot truly fulfill on a few day's leave in between battles. And there will be battles, more than you can count, until your strength fails and you die. And the dead cannot live their dreams. They do not even dream."

Dawn took a breath to find her balance; that hit too close to home. "A-and so what? You haven't offered anything yet. What do you have, a genie in a lamp?"

"Nothing so childish as that. We are making an offer we have never made before." It stared straight into Dawn's eyes, and she found herself drawn right into that blue orb of fire. "Join us, and live."

* * *

"What? What did it just say?"

"Clip that! Analyze body language, inflection, everything!"

"FrigDiv 17 reports enemy bomber squadrons probing our picket line."

"Stand by on the detonator."

"Orbital Defense Cluster Quezon coming into firing range, ETA three minutes."

"Freighter MS _Inari Okami_ away, escort UNSC _Kingfisher_. General evacuation 71 percent complete."

"What's her respons—"

"Order in the CIC." Lasky spoke at the same time as Captain Shen. The captain blinked, then nodded respectfully at the admiral. "Thank you, captain. Comms officer, you had something to report?"

"One moment, sir. Say again, what distance?" The comms officer listened intently to his headphones. "Copy that. Minimum separation five thousand klicks." He swiveled his chair to face the center display and pulled the headphones around his neck. " _Siren_ reports that Clarion drones experience circuitry failure within one thousand kilometers. Last transmissions indicate erratic power surges, self-compartmentalization and cascading subsystem quarantines."

"Thank you, officer. Roland?"

" _Sounds like a response to a remote subversion attack. They're aware of our drones, and they're trying to turn them against us._ " Roland grunted in annoyance. " _Trying to be cheeky, eh? Give me a few minutes, let me show them how a professional does electronic warfare._ "

"There'll be time for that later, Roland." Lasky glanced over to the evacuation timer, then to the orbits of Turul and Reach. "Maybe sooner than we think."

"Admiral Lasky," one of the intelligence officers interjected, worry coloring her voice, "this offer — if I'm reading this right, Forward Unto Dawn's vitals spiked right after it was made. I think she's considering it."

"Your orders, sir?" another officer said, finger twitching towards one of the two detonator keys. "We can't risk letting the asset fall into enemy hands. It knows too much."

Lasky held his breath for three long seconds, then let it out slowly. "Commander Fernandez, has there been any sort of concrete indication of disobedience or disloyalty? Beyond just vital signs, I mean."

The officer hesitated, then shook his head, jaw tense. "Negative, sir."

"Very well. Continue monitoring the situation. Let me know if anything changes, but I do not want to throw away our ace in the hole unless absolutely necessary." Lasky sighed and turned to Roland. "Any change in enemy fleet disposition?"

" _We gave their probes a stern talking-to, but other than that no changes."_

"In that case, we can only wait."

* * *

"E-excuse me?" Dawn crossed her arms and huffed indignantly. "Where the hell do you get off, saying that kind of stuff? I'd die before joining up with scum like you!"

"Why do you owe them your loyalty? They send you to bleed and die, give you trinkets and awards, then pump you full of chemicals and tell you to do it again. Surely you know that they don't trust or value you?" It lifted a hand and pointed at the bomb around her neck. "They put explosives on you and you think they have your best interests in mind?"

"W-well, it's not like they don't have a reason to—"

"And we are sure they had reasons when they sent you to die a hundred thousand light years away from home, fighting alongside the monsters who destroyed your people." The Abyssal scoffed. "Reasons are cheaper than dust."

"… all the same, they had them."

"Do not be foolish. You should have no loyalty for those who would discard you in a heartbeat. Join us, crush those who consider you a tool to be used and disposed of, and you will be valued and cherished. You will have a place in our new universe."

Dawn shifted uncomfortably, keenly aware of the people listening in on her circuit, and of the detonator someone was surely caressing back aboard _Infinity_. "And what new universe is that?"

"One where the past is not so easily forgotten." It shook its head in irritation. "Enough with the questions. If it's the explosives you are worried about that, we have already fixed the issue." It flicked a finger, and the collar fell away from her neck, sliced cleanly in half. Dawn's hand shot up to her throat, eyes widening, but before she could speak the Abyssal continued. "So, your answer? We will not make this offer again"

Dawn didn't answer for a long minute. The Abyssal waited patiently, unblinking, unmoving. Her jaw worked, but it was only after some time that she finally began to speak. "… it's true that I didn't get the best of deals. And it's true that I wish thing's could have gone differently." The Abyssal began nodding. "But! You're an alien. And beyond that, an alien who's killed humans and destroyed human worlds. I can't be a part of that."

"The same humans who ordered you to die? And what was even your reward, after helping strike the final blow against the Covenant and saving their hero's life? Do they speak of you in the same breath as the _Arbiter_ and the _Master Chief_? Do people think of you whenever they speak of the 'Great War'?!" It slashed the vacuum with a hand. "No. You are a footnote in the history books, a passing mention, a number on an accounting ledger. But we remember. And we will ensure you receive your due reward."

"Yes." It hurt a little to admit, but Dawn plowed on. "Yes, I'm not on the same level as the Chief, or the Arbiter. But unlike you!" She stabbed an accusatory finger at the Abyssal. "Unlike you, I don't have this pathetic, pathological need to be praised and validated. I was a supporting actor, and I'm okay with that! People might not always remember what I did, but I know, and I know I did my job well!"

"With us, you could take center stage."

"Well, I don't want to! Others can take that limelight; that's not for me. I'm a frigate, a support vessel. While others are doing the stuff that gets the fame, blowing up the bad guys and winning the battles, I'll be in the rear, getting people to safety, supporting the ground forces, and taking care of anything that gets past the main line." She pointed at herself emphatically. "Don't you get it? Offering me eternal fame isn't gonna work, because I don't want that. As far as I'm concerned, saving people is enough of a legacy. And I can't save people if I join you." She spit on the hull of the ship. "So there's your answer. Take it and shove it up your ass."

"Very well." The blue light of its eye somehow changed its character, becoming more menacing, more sinister. "You have rejected our most generous offer. We hope you are prepared to bear the cost."

* * *

"Energy spike, reading 50 percent increase in radiation leakage."

"Copy, confirm, enemy fleet is increasing activity, combat imminent." The sensor officer glanced up at an overhead. "Reading acceleration and weapons signatures throughout the enemy fleet."

"Understood. All units, charge weapons and assume formation diamond wedge, come to full ahead, bearing 015-034. Engage as soon as you come in range. We're going to blow right through their flank." Lasky huffed a resigned but relieved breath. "Seems negotiations were rather short." He gave a small, tired smile to no one in particular. "At least I think we've settled the question of Dawn's loyalties."

" _So it seems,_ " Roland replied in a distracted voice. " _I'm rather more concerned with what that Abyssal said._ "

"Is now _really_ the time to be thinking about that, Roland?"

" _Well, I don't know about you, I'd much rather spend my last bits of life thinking about something less dull than imminent death. But, you're right. Shields full front, reactors to war emergency output, coordinating fleet fire control._ " The AI turned around. " _Your arrangements with Captain Garcia are also in order. It's up to Forward Unto Dawn to hold on for as long as she can now._ "

"No use worrying about her now. We've got enough on our own plates." Lasky caught Shen looking at him expectantly and nodded. "Captain Shen, permission granted to go to the bridge. Command your ship." The captain saluted and marched off, a pair of marines and an intel officer following him at a calm but brisk pace. Lasky turned back to the CIC display as the rate incoming reports, requests and acknowledgements began to pick up. "All units, concentrate fire on enemy formation Alpha. Wipe them out."

* * *

"I've had enough of you."

"I'm sorry, what—" The first punch whipped at Dawn's head almost faster than her sensors could track. She barely moved out of the way in time, deflecting it off the side of her helmet rather than her nose. The blow still sent her staggering, ears ringing, systems flickering on and off. However, her punch-drunk swaying, while not conducive to hitting anything, was also unfavorable to being hit. Through sheer luck Dawn ducked under a wide roundhouse, buying enough time to fire her thrusters and create a healthier bit of space.

"Ugh!" Dawn hit the ground hard and fell to a knee to steady herself. An incoming fire alarm sounded and she reflexively crossed her arms in front of herself, intercepting a hail of point defense cannon shells. Her own PDC suite lashed out and knocked down a salvo of missiles, leaving only drifting smoke and debris. "So we're doing it this way, then? Fine, have this!" She unleashed her own missiles, firing blindly through the smokescreen. Her sensors registered an explosion and a surprised grunt and she smiled grimly. "Come on, I thought you wanted to fight—"

"Die!" Two gleaming crystal-bladed knives slashed out of the smoke, passing centimeters in front of Dawn's stomach and scratching against her armor. She yelped and jumped back, turning away from a stab and countering with a sharp twisting kick towards the Abyssal's face. The alien dodged it effortlessly with a step back, but Dawn kept coming with another sweeping kick, and then a flurry of punches.

"Get back!" Pain reverberated up her arm as Dawn finally landed a hit. The Abyssal stumbled back from the blow to its chest, giving Dawn room to put her arsenal to work. She concentrated on a mental image and, with a snap, an assault rifle landed in her open hands, shimmering from the materialization process. Racking back the bolt with a flourish, she let loose on full auto, hosing down the Abyssal with 7.62 mm rounds. It blocked the rounds with a single raised arm, but Dawn quickly followed up by tossing a pair of grenades and slam-firing a shotgun until it clicked empty.

"Why you—!" The Abyssal, of course, did not just stand still. Dawn hopped and skipped around bullets which ricocheted off the hull beneath her feet, firing back all the time. A pair of point defense turrets, real ones mounted to the dreadnought beneath her, tried to track her, each of their barrels almost the size of her head, but Dawn danced between them and let loose a burst of electronic noise to confuse their IFF systems. The explosion of their mutual annihilation was nearly as gratifying as the chagrined look on the Abyssal's face.

The fuzzy feelings didn't last long, and Dawn grimaced as a piece of metal sliced across her cheek. She tossed out a smoke grenade, and though the cloud dissipated quickly it gave her a chance to duck behind an outcropping, A hand pressed to her cheek came away smeared with blood. Dawn stared at the red liquid and swallowed hard. A quick , it brought home the point that despite her supernatural durability her body was still very real, very mortal, and that those missiles were getting awfully close—

"Shit!" Dawn cartwheeled over one hand and slid along the hull as her point defenses engaged the missiles, then swung an armor-plated arm to narrowly deflect a 25 mm railgun slug that would have blasted her heart out her back. A jet of pain shot up the limb, and the explosions of the missiles prevented her from seeing the Abyssal lunging out of the smoke, long and wickedly sharp knife in hand and aimed for her heart, until it was almost too late. Dawn tried to deflect it off her gauntlet armor, but her arm was out of position from blocking the railgun and the blade cut straight through the hardened titanium and bit deep into her left hand.

Polypseudomorphine surged into her bloodstream, suppressing the fire and ice exploding throughout her arm. Holding back a scream, she grabbed hold of the Abyssal's wrist before it could withdraw, yanked it close and jerked a knee up between its legs. A titanium-reinforced headbutt and a boot to the chest followed, sending the alien reeling away in pain with hands clutching its skull. Dawn ripped the knife out of its fleshy sheath, allowing a river of blood to pour down her arm, and delivered a quick rising slash which left a deep cut running from the Abyssal's chest to the top of its mask.

"You—!" Dawn parted ways with the knife as its handle suddenly grew too hot to bear, flinging it left and diving right as it exploded. The Abyssal backed away from the blast, staring at the blood dripping from the wound left by its own weapon. The liquid was thick and cold, oozing out of the cut and barely registering in her infrared scope. It was tinged a strange shade of purple, and as it hit vacuum seemed to separate into two layers, blue and red. "This…"

Dawn rose unsteadily to her feet. It hurt to curl her hand into a fist, and she willed damage control to work faster. "So, you can bleed," she murmured, half to herself and half to the Abyssal. "And if you bleed, that means I can kill you. Not so tough now, are you?" she finished with a smirk.

"You… you!" The Abyssal's head whipped towards Dawn, eye-light darkening with what she could only guess was fury. The cut on its chest was sealing itself before her eyes, unbelievably fast, blood evaporating and leaving only a light residue as the only sign the alien had ever been wounded. Confidence falling by the second, Dawn flipped through her sensor suite, trying desperately to pinpoint the source of the healing. One scope detected an electrical field beneath the Abyssal's feet, another sniffed out faint radiation permeating the local vacuum, and a third finally identified a river of stream of sickly, warped energy flowing from the metal of the ship beneath her into the alien's body.

"What?! No fair!" She keyed her radio as she backflipped and twisted away from a renewed barrage of fire. " _Infinity,_ the battleship's providing this thing with some sort of healing field! I can't beat it down quick enough! Plan's changed, I need fire supp—oof!"

Her back suddenly slammed against the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs. "Just give up! You can't win!" the Abyssal shouted, letting go of Dawn's leg and bringing its knife down on her chest. She quickly rolled to the side and onto her feet, called a combat knife to her hand and swept it up into the Abyssal's side. The alien, reacting impossibly fast, batted aside Dawn's attack and gleefully smashed through a block that was half a second too late with a vicious backhand. The blow snapped Dawn's head to the side and sent her reeling away, blood streaming freely from her nose. She rolled away and retreated, evading several slashes and stabs, and countered with a sloppy missile and secondary barrage that forced the Abyssal out of melee range.

The coppery taste of blood filled Dawn's mouth as she set another smokescreen to buy time. Loath as she was to admit it, the Abyssal was right. She still wasn't quite used to her new form and lacked stamina, and it showed in her slowing movements, while the Abyssal moved with uncanny speed and agility. She would never outlast it in a stand-up fight, not with that healing and especially if it kept closing the range and getting her on the ground. She needed to fight smarter. But how…?

 _Incoming, direct front high!_

Her eyes snapped upwards, as did her PDCs. Missiles, real ones from the dreadnoughts silos, not the Abyssal's rigging, arced over the smoke and plunged towards her. Cursing, Dawn jumped backwards, guns blazing away at the massive projectiles. A line of explosions blossomed as her guns downed the missiles, but dissipated as heavy railgun bolts tore through the smoke. They came in too fast to shoot down, but Dawn managed to duck behind a point defense emplacement, avoiding most of them and taking out the gun in the process when a slug crashed into it. "They're firing on their own ship! I've really got them mad!"

 _That's not a good thing!_

"Less talking, more—" The back of her neck tingled. The Abyssal rounded the corner of the destroyed turret like a street racer fishtailing through an intersection, ready to slash but instead finding a SPNKR rocket launcher pointed at its head. "Surprise, motherfucker!" One 120 mm rockets caught it in the left upper chest, the other smashed into its face, and both exploded into a sheet of smoke and flame. Dematerializing the weapon, Dawn jumped back and landed a respectful distance away, trying to catch her breath, extending her sensors to regain contact with the Abyssal.

"Grrrr…" A shockwave blew the smoke away, revealing the Abyssal. Half its chest and face were gone, but instead of blood and gore the missing sections revealed an unearthly flickering blue flame, casting the remaining parts of its body into an eerie interplay of light and shadow. It staggered, barely on its feet, but as Dawn watched the fire morphed into the shape of its missing limbs and head, slowly but steadily solidifying into flesh and metal. The Abyssal locked its eye with Dawn and let out a hate-filled scream. "Uraaaaaaah!"

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. _Infinity_ , I needed that fire support yesterday!" No response. Dawn chanced a look into the space above. Her sensors detected flashes of light and radiation, massive energy releases and dying ships. The fleet was on the attack. "On my own, then? Bastards." No answer came, and beneath the ship the rocky hills and valleys of Turul slowly inched by. "Okay, new plan. I need—"

A sensor warning came nearly too late to alert her to an incoming fighter wing. They strafed her one after another, Abyssal cannon rounds peppered her armor and the hull around her feet, forcing her back. As she retreated, three of them loosed missiles that forced her to the left, then three more dropped bombs that shook her to her knees. The shockwave set her ears to ringing while a mix of anti-inflammatory and anti-shock chemicals kept her head clear… but only just. As she struggled to her feet, something tugged at her back, then at her chest. Irritated, she tried to move away, but found herself stuck in place. A burning sensation began to spread through her torso. Thinking some burning fuel or plasma had gotten on her, she tried to bat it away, but only met a cold, solid surface, slick with liquid.

"What the fuck…?" Dawn looked down and saw a foot and a half of metal protruding from right about where her right lung was. She had about half a second to brace herself before her brain caught up to her body and a dozen alarms screamed simultaneously. This time, no amount of polypsuedomorphine could hope to keep her vision from turning red. "Oh… _fuck_!" Dawn opened her mouth to scream but only blood bubbled out, hot and red. Time seemed to slow as it floated in front of her; she stared at it, this liquid that was supposed to be inside her body, not out. "Fuck… _fuck!_ "

"Give up." The Abyssal's eye was cold as it drove the blade deeper, twisting it to and fro. "Just die."

"Fuck you!" Death sounded like a welcome prospect right about then, but the Reaper would have to wait just a bit. Dawn wrenched her head around, hacked up a disgusting mix of blood and phlegm and spit it into the Abyssal's face. It reeled back with a shout of disgust, letting go of the knife as it pawed at the revolting slime covering its eye. Dawn staggered back, wrenching the knife free with a shout of agony, then planted two feet in the Abyssal's chest and launched it with a rocket-assisted kick a hundred meters down the length of the hull. "I'm not dying here!" she yelled, blood flecking her lips. " _Infinity_ , anyone on this band, if you can do anything at all, do it now!"

* * *

Verdant suddenly materialized on a nearby holotank, breaking the spell that the fight held over the room. " _Captain, India Battery and Silo Complex 3 are in firing arc. Fire support request received._ "

Garcia shot to his feet, adrenaline pumping. "Fire, fire now!" Berlin's eyes flicked up to him, then back to the display. She leaned forwards, anticipation in every line of her face.

 _"Understood. All stations, brace!_ "

Deep in Turul's rocky, titanium-reinforced halls, Sergeant Armandez noticed a light blink on above her console. A quick glance told her that the other weapons stations were online as well. Targeting parameters flashed by on screen, too fast for her to read but slow enough to get the gist. "Missiles launching!" she yelled to the other men and women manning the silo control room. "Brace yourselves!"

"Guess this is it, sarge," Laughley said, crouching beneath a sturdy table. "Think it'll be enough?"

"It'll have to be."

* * *

It came like a bolt of divine intervention. Just as the ship passed over a certain portion of Turul's surface, pillars of flame rose from the desolate moonscape to meet it. _Scorpia_ 's last ten nuclear missiles, wrestled from her pods into the moon's surface-to-orbit silos with pure muscle power to avoid any sort of energy leakage that would give them away, crossed the distance between moon and dreadnought in the blink of an eye. Dawn's radiation alarms went berserk as a tight cluster of nuclear fireballs blossomed against the battleship's ventral shields, disrupting them just long enough for Turul's sole operational surface-to-orbit gun to fire. Not even the dreadnought's ludicrously thick armor put up much resistance to a Super MAC at point-blank range, and Dawn caught a glimpse of the 4000-ton shell as it smashed out of the dorsal armor belt, turned into a brilliant streak of plasma by the impact and barely slowed by the cloud of debris which followed it.

A large shudder passed through the metal beneath Dawn's feet, rattling her teeth in her skull. It was violent enough that her ears managed to register it as a low, bass rumble, though it was nothing compared to the scream that erupted from the Abyssal. The alien collapsed to its knees, tearing at its mask while wails of agony filled the airwaves. The sound was almost enough to force Dawn to shut off her radio, but she powered through the skull-splitting noise and seized this miraculous opportunity, charging and driving a knife into the Abyssal's stomach.

Before the alien could respond, Dawn unleashed her most violent attack yet. Punches, kicks, stomps, knees, pistol shots and shotgun blasts, knives to every exposed piece of flesh, a point-blank battering with PDCs, all rained down on the Abyssal without mercy. Its body instantly began to heal each wound it acquired, but even the power that sustained it couldn't keep up, and before Dawn's eyes the healing was slowing. Each cut was taking more time to close, each bruise more time to fade. Sensing weakness, she grabbed the alien around the neck, threw it over her shoulder and to the ground, then followed it down with an elbow to its throat.

"Ah!" The impact exacerbated her numerous wounds, but adrenaline, endorphins, and assorted combat drugs pumping through her veins prevented her from giving a lot of thought to them. Giving a brief mental thanks to whatever god had decided to give her another chance, Dawn straddled the Abyssal, pinned it in place with her knees and began hammering punches into its mask, one after another in a rapid-fire flurry of blows which would have left a human head a bloody pulp. "Come—on—just—give—up!" The Abyssal weakly raised a hand to defend itself, but Dawn batted it aside and summoned a nasty, claw-toothed hammer from her engineers. "You stubborn bastard! Just die!" Flipping it around to the blunt end, she wound up and smashed it into the Abyssal's face.

The mask cracked. The Abyssal gasped and choked, no sound coming from its throat. As the splintered metal fell away, it revealed a patch of skin, pale yet not stark white like the rest of the Abyssal, and a single brown eye which stood in stark contrast to the blue flame guttering in its twin. The Abyssal's mouth worked and it reached a hand towards its newly exposed features, but spasms suddenly seized its arm and its other hand snapped over to grab its wrist. Odd, but Dawn could feel herself slipping away from blood loss, and knew she had no time to think about it. She needed to finish this.

"So, stripping away your armor messes you up, huh? Then how about this!" Still pinning the Abyssal, Dawn began systematically pulling away its rigging with her bare hands, mixing in the occasional hammer blow to keep it from coming to its senses. Not that it would have, anyway — her sensors registered the flow of energy from the ship decreasing as it fell apart beneath her feet, shedding debris as its antigravity generators failed and Turul began to pull it down. As its rigging came apart, the Abyssal twisted and convulsed beneath her, writhing in agony as it tried to push her off but fought itself at the same time, almost as if its mind was splitting in two. "Yeah, that's right! Where's that tough talk now?! Where're your friends?! Just you and me, and about to be just me!" With a final yell, Dawn tore the Abyssal's chestplate off.

An unearthly scream echoed across the radio waves at the same time a blast of pressure flung Dawn off of her foe and sent her tumbling away down the hull. Stopping herself and coming up to a knee, she panted for breath, held a hand to the profusely bleeding gash in her chest and watched as the Abyssal thrashed about, clawing at its arms, its body, its face as the white material covering its body broke into fine chunks which floated away and dissolved into specks of black particles. A faint glow suffused the Abyssal's body and then, with a final, wispy wail and a burst of light, it fell still.

The only sound was Dawn's ragged breathing. She was dimly aware of reports filtering through the battlenet, of Abyssal units breaking and running, of Abyssal ships firing on each other, but she pushed them out of her awareness and staggered to her feet. One hand trying futilely to staunch the bleeding from her impromptu shish-kebabing, she stumbled over to where the Abyssal lay and peered at its newly exposed features. Instead of its rigging and armor, it wore a plain grey UNSC-issue t-shirt and workpants, and its hair was a dark brown rather than silvery grey. Wondering what UNSC clothes were doing on an alien, she moved the hair covering its face aside. A moment passed and her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but before she could say anything, a wave of dizziness passed over her. She barely had time to utter 'oh' before consciousness fled.

When Dawn came to, it was to a pair of ODSTs easing her onto a stretcher and a corpsman applying the best first aid she could in vacuum. Scratchy cloth bands wrapped across Dawn's torso and limbs, and when she realized she couldn't move panic seized her and she thrashed so hard the stretcher nearly upended. The ODSTs held her down, grunting with exertion, as the corpsman stuck her with a quick-action sedative. A wave of nausea rolled over her and Dawn frantically opened and closed her mouth. The ODSTs got the message and tilted the stretcher just enough for Dawn to lean over the side and vomit. A slightly staticky voice sounded in her radio: "Easy now, easy now, you're safe," the corpsman soothed, discarding an empty biofoam canister and applying a bandage to Dawn's abdomen. "We got you."

"T-thank you," Dawn whispered, weakly, each breath an agonizing effort. She glanced down, saw the bloody pressure bandages wrapped around her chest, and wished she hadn't. "W-where—"

"Just hold on, don't pass out again." A needle pricked her arm as the corpsman started a blood transfusion, followed by a wave of warmth as he started a morphine drip. "You've lost too much blood, even with your… powers." Dawn didn't feel very powerful, especially when a bit of frothy red liquid bubbled up between her lips. "Hang in there. Okay, let's get her out of here."

"Wait!" Dawn struggled to lift her head, ignoring the corpsman's exasperated sigh. "Where's Amber?!"

He cocked his head in confusion. "Who?"

"The— the Abyssal. Where'd she go?"

The ODSTs exchanged looks and the corpsman pursed his lips. "That's… don't worry about that thing. It's not a problem any more."

"No, I— just, please, is she still alive?"

"Alive? Yeah, it is for now. Might not be for much longer."

The morphine was kicking in hard. Dawn could feel herself fading fast, tides of unconsciousness washing over her. It was a struggle just to keep her eyes open. "D-don't kill her! I need to talk to her! Tell them not to kill her!"

One of the ODSTs piped up now. "That thing handed you your ass on a silver plate. Why do you care so much?"

"I just—" As much as she would have like to, there was no time to explain. Dawn's tongue felt clumsy and her throat thick, but she squeezed out a few last words. "Look, please just do me a favor. I'll take full responsibility. Throw her in a cell or something, interrogate her, I just need… to talk to her… Please…"

The girl's head lolled to the side, finally unconscious. The corpsman stared down at her for a moment, pondering her words. What she hoped to do by talking to that Abyssal was beyond him… but he did owe her a favor. The entire fleet did, really.

A transmission from the medevac Pelican broke the silence. " _Recovery One, in place for pickup, over._ "

"Understood, Recovery One. We're on our way, out." As the ODSTs began to carry the stretcher away, he pulled one aside. He turned off his radio and touched their faceplates together, letting the contact carry the vibrations of his voice. "I have to stay with Dawn," he muttered. "They're taking the Abbie to Infinity's max security section. Get down there and don't let any unfortunate accidents happen." The ODST stared back from behind his opaque faceplate. After a moment, the corpsman felt the tiniest of nods and let the trooper go. "Thank you." He turned his radio back on. "Sorry about that. Let's get off this hulk. It's giving me the willies."

* * *

A soft beeping noise pricked the silence like a grass shoot poking up through dark soil. Stalwart-class frigate In Amber Clad groaned, unwilling to open her eyes and face the bright LED lights. She tried to turn over and press her face into the pillows, but her arms and legs wouldn't move…

 _Wait._

Amber's eyes flew open and she shot upright — or at least, tried to. Tight shackles around her wrists and ankles that kept her limbs spread-eagled yanked her back down to the mattress before she could get far. A grunt of pain escaped her throat, and the exertion of the simple motion left her breathless.

"What… where…" At least she could turn her head; the action came naturally. Doing so, Amber attempted to take stock of her situation. Self-awareness came in fits and starts. The first thing that stuck out was, of course, that she was tied down. The second thing was, and it probably should have been the first, that she had a _body to be tied down_. A human _body_. If she hadn't been so frightened, she might even have been happy. "Hello? Is anybody there?" Speaking came naturally too, though she had never done it before. She craned her neck, trying to find a friendly face. "Hello-ah!" An ODST helmet suddenly entered her field of vision, standing in the corner of the room, assault rifle across their chest and visor opaque.

"E-excuse me…" Her lips cracked and her throat ached as she called out. She knew this sensations was 'thirst' and that it was one of the side affects of having a body. She also knew that it meant she needed to drink something. "Can I please have some water?" The ODST made no reply, but Amber thought his helmet might have turned slightly to the side. "S-sir? Can y-you hear me?"

"We can hear you perfectly well."

Amber gasped, head snapping towards the voice. A grey-uniformed officer sat in a plastic chair at the foot of her bed, flanked by a pair of distinctly unfriendly-looking marines. His carefully blank expression, more unnerving than any amount of anger or rage, revealed nothing.

"A-ah, sorry. Um…" Amber craned her neck and peered at his rank insignia. "… Admiral… oh, God, um, how long have you been watching, sir?"

"A few minutes."

Amber groaned and let her head fall back. "I've made a complete ass out of myself, haven't I, sir?"

"I daresay you've done a bit more than that." The admiral leaned forwards and narrowed his eyes. "A hundred ships. Does that ring a bell?"

What the hell was going on? "Uh… I think…" Amber dug deep into her memory banks. "Last I recall, the Sixth Fleet had that many ships—"

"Stop wasting my time. Why are you attacking us?"

"Attacking you?" Amber wished she could muster up more than bewildered parroting, but there was just too much coming too fast at her. "I-I don't understand, I would never—"

A fist slammed into her bed's railing. Amber bit back a yelp of fear, staring up at the admiral now looming over her, dispassion replaced with seething anger. "Don't _fuck_ with me, _Abyssal_. Change your clothes all you want, you still destroyed a fifth of my fleet and killed _thousands_ of men and women. I have a dozen senior officers baying for your blood and I've half a mind to grant it to them. So unless you'd like us shred your brain through a Riemann matrix and torture every last scrap of intel out of your twisted mind, answer my questions, and do _not_ fuck with me. Understand?"

A peculiar lump in Amber's throat bottled up her reply. Her breaths came quick and shallow and her limbs felt paralyzed, glued to thin air. She felt like a passenger in her own body,

"Hey." Amber looked left, towards the new voice. A weary-looking girl dressed in a hospital gown, leaning heavily on a crutch and escorted by a marine, looked back at her with a gentle smile. Something seemed familiar about her, and Amber felt something tugging at the edges of her vision. She closed her eyes and gave into the urge, unsure of where it would take her, and when she opened them again she beheld…

"… Forward Unto Dawn?"

"Just Dawn now." Her fellow frigate limped over to her bedside and knelt down. "How you doing, Amber?"

"Dawn, what are you doing here? I thought I told everyone to stay out. Who let you in?" the admiral interjected, consternation on his features.

She aimed a scathing look at the admiral, acidic enough that Amber could feel her own skin prickle. "Sir, if Amber was really going to attack us I think I'd be in the _least_ danger here."

To his credit, the admiral gave no sign of being put off by the death glare. "I'm not questioning your fighting skills, but you're already hurt." Dawn grimaced, and Amber noticed for the first time the neat white strips of bandages poking out from under her gown. "Also, if there's even a thousandth percent chance of this thing overpowering us, that's a thousandth percent more than I'm willing to chance us losing you."

"… I see your point, sir." Dawn pursed her lips, then looked up. "But still, for the sake of interrogation I think you should tune it down a bit." She turned a sympathetic gaze towards Amber. "I woke up in a supply closet, and that was scary enough. It must be terrifying to wake up chained to a bed with no recent memories, being threatened and interrogated over something you know nothing about. Intimidation is all well and good, sir, but take it too far and you might scare her into silence."

Her throat still locked up, Amber settled for nodding, grateful that Dawn at least understood her feelings. The admiral had the grace to look a bit contrite.

"You… you're not wrong. I let my emotions get ahead of me— that was unprofessional. I apologize." His gaze hardened once more, and he turned back to Amber. "The fact remains, though, a day and a half ago this… individual damn near turned Reach back into a cinder."

"Oh, I know." Amber looked back and forth between the two, utterly baffled. Reach? Reach was glass, dead, why were they talking about it? For that matter, how was Dawn talking at all? With a human body? Why did _Amber_ have a human body? "But I think there's more to it than that. Amber." The shipgirl in question started, then nodded to show she was listening. "You gotta work with me here. There's a list of charges a light-year long waiting for you if I can't get you off the hook now, and it's the firing squad if they find you guilty — and they will."

"We'll proceed with the interrogation tomorrow," the admiral stated, then stood up. "Dawn, I'll be waiting for you outside the door. Say what you need to in five minutes, then get out of here. That's an order."

"Yes, sir." Dawn let out something between a laugh and a sigh, then hung her head until the door closed. "So," she said, flicking her eyes up to meet Amber's, "you probably have a lot of questions. Unfortunately, as the admiral says, I'm really supposed to be in bed right now, so I can only answer one." Her gaze turned sympathetic. "I know how scary this must be, and how lost you're probably feeling. All I can say is, just hang in there. We'll get through this — together." She straightened her posture and patted some dust off her gown. "Now, business. You have time for one question, so make it count."

One question? Amber had hundreds, all crowding for space on her tongue. But she could only choose one? What was most important? "… the war. The Covies. Did we… did they… has Earth…"

Dawn smiled, a warm, honest expression that put Amber at ease. "The war is over. We won. Earth is safe. The Covenant… well, from what I hear, it's complicated, but they're not the problem now." A shadow passed over her face. "It's… something else. What do you remember before waking up here?"

"What do I…?" Trying to remember made her head hurt; maybe she'd try again later. "Not much… sorry."

Dawn nodded, slightly disappointed but not surprised. "Well, that's to be expected. But a lot has changed — I'm still taking it all in myself. But I guess you'll learn about all of that tomorrow, I don't want to overburden you today. Just rest for now."

There was so much more that Amber wanted to ask: why was she human, why was _Dawn_ human, why she was tied down, was this a dream, was this the afterlife, what did everyone seem to think she had done, the list went on. But, she bit her tongue and held herself in check… at least until Dawn stood up and her gown shifted just a little, exposing a thick band of scar tissue that ran around her lower torso. Then, Amber couldn't help herself.

"D-did I—"

"What, this?" Dawn unconsciously traced a finger along the scar. "No, this… it's just a part of me. Reminds me of what I used to be, and where I am now." She drew her gown tighter together and smiled thinly. "Yeah. Get some rest. There's still long days ahead of you." And with that, and a single look over her shoulder, Dawn hurried from the room, marine escort right behind her, leaving Amber to her swirling thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Binary danced and swirled around Verdant as she sat cross-legged in an ocean of data. Numbers flowed in a neverending stream, data here and gone in the blink of an eye. A million strings of code flitted by in an instant, much too fast for any human mind to see, let alone comprehend.

But Verdant was much more than a human mind. In that instant, she plucked out a hundred data feeds, dissected them, understood them, and issued the necessary commands to optimize the output of Turul's abused reactors. In the next instant, she handled a dozen complex traffic routing procedures, calculating efficient burn vectors that still kept ships at constant safe separation. She then ran a diagnosis of _Scorpia_ 's computer systems, evaluated repair progress and took inventory of all the munitions onboard, denied several incoming classified data requests, rooted out a chunk of malware lying dormant in Turul's computers, and so on and so on. After the excitement of the past few days, the routine tasks of running a station were oddly refreshing. She'd eventually turn control of the moon's facilities back to its own caretaker AI, but now she'd gotten a taste for the sedentary life… maybe she could put in for a transfer to an ODP or a shipyard? Of course, she'd make sure Captain Garcia came along…

Strange. Was she forgetting something? Verdant split off a personality fragment to oversee her duties and quickly ran several thousand independent self-diagnoses, cross-correlating her various instances to ensure that some mundane task hadn't been lost in the flow of other, equally mundane tasks. The reports came in simultaneously; no anomalies. As suspected, just paranoia. She breathed a virtual sigh and massaged electronic temples. Could AIs request shore leave? Maybe she'd devote a few milliseconds of runtime to skimming through UNSC regulations. She turned to resume work, reaching out to pluck a yellow-tinged data stream.

" _Dammit all to hell—_ "

"Nice try," Verdant said as she dropped the surface layer process instances which masked her security and counterintelligence routines. Her captive tried to wriggle free, but a snap of her fingers isolated a chunk of network and bound him in place. "But only that."

"Can't I catch a break? How did you catch me?"

"It was a neat trick, packaging yourself in those data requests," she admitted. "I was sloppy in my contact, but when you tried to piggyback into _Scorpia_ 's network you were queued into an automatic filtering path."

Roland had the grace to look chagrined as he floated in Verdant's virtual workspace, bound hand and foot with translucent green chains of binary code. "Paranoid much? They say AIs take after their owners but aren't you taking emulating that captain of yours a little too far?"

"Captain Garcia is merely properly cautious, which is more than I can say for you." She flicked a languid hand, causing Roland to grunt as the chains tightened, self-propagating killbots eating away at his outer code shells. "Furthermore, attempting to anger me is not the wisest course of action. I have multiple system-kill programs aimed at your core process data."

As if oblivious to her threat, Roland smiled apologetically. "Sorry to disappoint, I'm just a fragment. Kill away, doesn't make a lick of difference to me."

"Oh really?" Despite his bravado, Roland began to sweat as the killbots began to munch on his auxiliary data feed nodes. "I wonder what's under the hood here…?"

"Now, now— ouch! — let's not be hasty here! I'm just a fragment doing my job, and you're not the sadistic type, so maybe we can work something out? I'm no good to anyone disassembled — ow!"

Verdant gazed at him with bored, half-lidded eyes, pretending to examine her digital fingernails. "Then start talking. You're only a fragment, so I won't have to feel bad when I start disassembling you, layer by layer."

"Who stuck a trojan horse up your personality matrix?" Roland yelped as the chains tightened more. "Alright, alright! Christ, I'll talk!"

"Wasn't that easy?" Roland sighed in relief as Verdant clapped her hands to call off the killbots; the chains remained, if slightly looser. "For starters, explain the super-shady act. You're Admiral Lasky's aide-de-camp, with admiralty-level clearances. I physically cannot deny any official request you make. Why are you trying to go behind my back?"

"I wanted a challenge? Kidding!" Roland frantically waved his hands as Verdant began the motions of a snap. "Touchy much? Well, the info I want isn't really… on the books, so to say? And this entire thing is kind of under the table, so if I could just be on my way it'll be like I was never here."

Verdant frowned and shook her head. "That doesn't add up. This is Admiral Lasky we're talking about. Nobody would question it if he wanted information." A thought crossed her circuits. "Is Captain Garcia under audit?"

"No, no, nothing like that, though in between us he could do with a bit more starch in his spine." He gave her a pleading look. "Look, can we just drop it? I won't muck with anything, you won't tell anyone I was here, everything's peachy!"

"I think this is what the police call 'reasonable suspicion'." A holographic phone appeared in her hand and she pretended to dial a number. "This all seems a little above my pay grade. Shall I call Internal Security?"

Roland's face went from its customary rich yellow to an extra-pale ale. "Ah ha ha, now why would we want to get them involved? Spoilsports." Verdant's finger got closer to the call button. "Fine, okay! One condition, this conversation does _not_ go in your logs."

"Or else?"

"Or else I blast enough scrap code into this network to set off a logic plague and trigger your automatic rampancy safeguards to delete you." He scoffed at her expression. "You make a convincing frog, ever considered taking up acting? Didn't you know admiralty-level clearances come with certain anti-capture protocols? The things I could do to these systems… however, it's quite a painful experience, not to mention mutually lethal, and it'd necessitate replacement of the entire network so I'd really rather not." Sighing, he disappeared his helmet and fixed his holographic hair into place. "Since we could both kill each other at a moments notice, how about we just put the guns down and have a nice, civil, _unofficial_ chat?"

After a minute of demurring — an AI minute, and thus a fraction of a fraction of a millisecond of real-time — curiosity won out over proper protocol. This _was_ Roland, after all, if only a fragment and his reputation and station did earn him a bit of the benefit of the doubt. "… acceptable." Verdant overrode her logging protocols with a thought, keeping one wary eye on Roland. "Don't try to pull a fast one. If you start something, I'll know, and I _will_ stick you in a process-dilation matrix so you can enjoy every last bit of your code being worked over by a scavenger bot."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't run. In fact…" He eyed her, gaze suddenly speculative. "But first, information." An armchair appeared beneath him and he sat down with a huff. "You _are_ familiar with Agent Berlin, aren't you?"

"Of course," Verdant answered quickly, a hint of crossness entering her voice. Roland, of course, picked up on it instantly.

"Not the most pleasant interaction, I take it? Gave your captain a decent grilling? No need to spell it out, your mood algorithms are an open book. Of course, that's only fair, really, especially considering the degree of contact he's had with Forward Unto Dawn…"

 _Forward Unto Dawn?_ "Does this have something to do with—"

"Ah, ah, no interruptions, I'm telling a story here! Now, where was I?" Roland pressed two fingers into the bridge of his nose and exhaled between his teeth. "Right. Well, the plot thickens around our resident ONI field agent. There are three main facts to consider." He held up three fingers and ticked them off one at a time. "One, Agent Berlin was in the middle of a fact-finding mission regarding our friendly neighborhood ship spirit when the Abyssals crashed the party and shat in the punch bowl. Two, ONI HQ was evacuated in the middle of the attack, and Berlin did not have the time to complete and file her report before being abandoned in the middle of our little kerfuffle. Three, Forward Unto Dawn is currently in naval custody onboard the _Infinity._ " He nodded his chin in Verdant's direction. "Now, you're a smart little program. Tell me what that means."

"… ONI HQ doesn't know Forward Unto Dawn's true nature, or her capabilities."

Roland made a shooting motion. "Pre-cise-ly! Now, normally, this wouldn't amount to much, since we'd all be dead and dead men tell no tales. Neither we nor ONI would be any the wiser to the situation. However, I would like to take this time to point out that we are, in fact, not dead." A glass of water materialized and he took a long sip. "Thanks to Forward Unto Dawn's little stunt, we are now in the awkward position of knowing something which ONI, by and large, does not."

It was a lot to process. Thankfully, Verdant was nothing if not a processing machine. "I understand. So in addition to the combat data collected during battle, you also want the physiological data gathered while she was in the brig here, in order to consolidate your information advantage. And that information is stored on _Scorpia_ 's computers, which are linked to this network…" She frowned and tilted her head while crossing her arms. "I still don't understand why you had to try to go behind my back. I would have given you the data, you know?"

"So, we're back to this." Roland took another sip of simulated water. "That's true enough. But the thing is… I don't know if you noticed, but Forward Unto Dawn doesn't quite fit the conventional definition of human. This technically makes this entire affair a xeno-contact-slash-xeno-tech scenario, which places it under ONI jurisdiction. If I make an official request for information, it'll automatically be logged, by you and me. I could override my logs, but being a good little AI, you wouldn't. And I couldn't very well just _ask_ you to override your logs, not without this conversation we're having right now, which I'd hoped to avoid in the first place." He fixed Verdant with a withering look. "Now do you get it? If I go through official channels, ONI — which means Agent Berlin — is notified that an admiralty-level information request was made, which means she will review it, which means she'll realize that I'm going behind her back, which means she'll shut this whole thing down before it gets started."

"And what is 'this whole thing'?" Verdant pressed. "Have you forgotten our deal? You're dancing around the real question — why are you doing all this?"

"If we want to get technical, it's because the Big Bang set a bunch of energy and matter into motion that coalesced a few billion years later into our present predicament. In the interests of keeping my code coherent, it's because Admiral Lasky wants to secure Forward Unto Dawn as a naval asset, a frontline asset, before ONI can get their hands on her and spirit her away to a research lab that might, _might_ produce some new tech we can use in a few ships in a dozen years. In the meantime, we'll just twiddle our thumbs as the Abyssals roll over our fleets — or we can take this opportunity and finally, _finally_ force some parity, however local, into this war."

"And you need data to prepare your argument." Verdant nodded in understanding. "I get it now, no thanks to your oratory skills."

"You try running on a hundredth of your usual processing power, see how it feels."

"I prefer to live vicariously. But I do see your point." Despite the rough start, Dawn _had_ grown on her a bit. She'd brought some much-needed sunshine into _Scorpia's_ dull corridors. It'd be a shame to see that bright personality disappear into some obscure asteroid… and she'd be lying if Verdant denied that the possibility, however slim, of having a biological superweapon attached to _Scorpia_ appealed to her. She ran a quick check of her logic routines to make sure Roland hadn't somehow subverted her reasoning and found nothing. "I'll turn a blind eye while you collect your data."

"Excellent!" Roland clapped his hands. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to set me free…?"

A thought vanished the chains and restored full network access. "How is Forward Unto Dawn, by the way? I haven't had any updates on her condition, and Captain Garcia has been wondering."

"She's, well… she's tough, I'll give her that much." A file appeared in Roland's hand for a brief second, then disappeared in a flash of light. A subroutine whispered told Verdant she'd received a data package. "Might as well give you this. It's a recording of the operation. She nearly bled out before we got her into surgery, it's a miracle she was still coherent when the corpsmen got to her after the fight. They stopped the bleeding and tried to repair the damage, but it's like some hidden regeneration factor kicked in and her body just took over the healing itself." He chuckled at some memory. "The looks on their faces when her lung sealed itself up right there and then… ah, but she'll definitely pull through. Combat capable is another question entirely, but baby steps." His smile seemed to change its character slightly as he studied Verdant's reaction. "Why, I swear it almost seems like you and your captain care about her."

"Absolutely not," she replied primly. "Since we're done here, shall I wipe my memory core as well? Just to make sure there's absolutely no record."

"No, actually, don't do that just yet." The chair and glass disappeared as Roland stood up. "There's something I've been cooking up on my own — separate from the admiral, that is. I intended to do this later, but since we're here and breaking the rulebook over our knees, might as well. I wasn't certain about this at first, but based on our conversation, I have a proposition for you…"

* * *

From the outside, _Scorpia_ didn't look any better than she had a week ago. Gaping holes dotted her pitted and blackened armor plating where destroyed coilgun and plasma batteries once stood. Many of her missile silo doors were warped and jammed half-open, revealing the empty launch tubes and twisted magnetic rails within. A large section of armor plating was missing from the starboard side, melted into slag, and her sleek silhouette was disrupted by a sizable missing chunk as if some cosmic beast had taken a bite out of her top. To a casual observer, she looked like a wreck.

However, as Garcia ran his hand along one wall, he could feel his ship coming, however slowly, back to life. Her power lines emitted a barely perceptible but solid and steady hum, a sign of a healthy reactor. The air smelled fresher than it had in months, courtesy of an overhauled life support system. Engineering happily reported the successful realignment and synchronization of the MAC coils, and _Scorpia_ 's communications suite was receiving broadcasts from across the system. Though it'd be a while before she was combat capable, her core had survived her beating and come out stronger.

"Get better soon," he murmured as he stepped into the CIC. The normally bustling compartment was mostly empty. The few officers standing watch over the essential systems saluted as he came in then turned back to their work, and not for the first time he realized how much the room's grim atmosphere owed to its usual red battle lighting. Bathed in bright white LEDs, it lost much of its usual gravity and importance. He wandered over to his usual spot by the main display and gestured to bring it to life. "Verdant, give me an update on fleet disposition." A second passed, and Garcia frowned when the AI didn't appear. "Verdant, I know you can hear me."

" _Apologies._ " The AI materialized on the table, standing at attention. " _Welcome back. What can I do for you, sir?_ "

"There you are. Any new communications?"

" _While you were in the bathroom? No sir_ ," she said primly.

Garcia arched an eyebrow at her odd tone. "Unnecessary detail, but thank you. Any updates to repair progress?"

" _UNSC_ General Winter _had to SCRAM her reactors when undiscovered damage caught up with her. She's been given service priority, which means we've been kicked down the queue. Again._ " Verdant's synthesized voice contained a slightly sour note as she browsed a holographic clipboard, projecting an image of the crippled heavy cruiser.

"That's… unfortunate." A reactor SCRAM meant _General Winter_ would need a full rebuild of her power plant. _Scorpia_ 's return to service would be delayed yet again. _Hang tight, old girl._ "Were there casualties?"

" _A few WIA in engineering, but the failsafes worked as designed. She got off lucky._ " A datapad replaced the clipboard in Verdant's hand. She browsed it intently, then brightened a bit as she continued, " _However, this does give me time to better integrate the new modifications into_ Scorpia's _architecture, so it isn't all bad._ "

"Modifications?" Garcia was instantly on guard. He was probably simply stuck in his ways, but the thought of changes being made to _Scorpia_ roused a certain protective instinct. "I wasn't aware modifications were being made."

" _No? Really? You're usually on top of these things._ "

"Give me a break, it's been hectic."

" _Fair enough. Let's see… ah, yes. HQ filed a report a couple of days ago detailing the upgrade work to be done, but I suppose it was misplaced when the Abyssals kicked in the door._ " She had the grace to look apologetic. " _Just an administrative error. It's my fault for not realizing you weren't informed, sir._ "

Suspicions slightly assuaged, he nodded slowly. "Okay. If it's an official job, I suppose that's alright. But give me a rundown of the modifications immediately."

" _Understood._ " A model of _Scorpia_ appeared, hovering in the main display, certain portions highlighted and annotated. Verdant continued speaking as Garcia leaned forward to study it. " _Work includes general improvements to reactor and propulsion efficiency, improvements to shielding efficiency, and updates for the targeting software. In addition, technicians will be installing two torpedo launchers and capacity for six sets of reloads, to bring_ Scorpia _in line with the class refit._ "

"Well, that's… that's quite nice, actually." He scrutinized the image, paying close attention to the torpedo launchers. They were located towards the stern, laying on their sides and recessed into the dorsal armor belt, reminiscent of cruise missile launchers in early submarines. They would swivel outwards when firing, then close to reload. It was nowhere near as powerful or efficient as the integrated systems on frigates and corvettes, but as a somewhat shoe-horned upgrade it provided _Scorpia_ with some much-needed firepower. If she, by some miracle, found herself knife-fighting a heavy Abyssal unit and not immediately blasted into scrap, a pair of torpedoes could end the brawl quite neatly. The only issue was… "What's the armor over those launchers, and how much are they tearing out to fit those in?"

" _There's plating equivalent to 40 centimeters of belt armor, running for 50 meters. A third of our regular belt plating._ " Verdant offered up a sympathetic smile. " _If it's any consolation, we didn't lose any shield projectors, and the launchers themselves should act as spaced armor in the event of a hit._ "

"Not that our belt could stop much in the first place," Garcia muttered, turning _Scorpia_ 's model around to get a better look. "Spaced armor is good against energy and explosions, but a kinetic round will tear right through this assembly. And once it does…" A touch turned the model translucent. Starting from the outside, he drew a line through the launchers and into the ship. "If anything penetrates near this angle, it'll open the engineering spaces like a can."

" _To be completely honest, sir, it's not like that wasn't already a problem. We're not a battleship. Our life expectancy is measured in the amount of time it takes for an Abbie cruiser to reload._ " Verdant sighed and pressed one hand to her temple, shaking her head. " _Such a specific hit like that is unlikely, anyway. So long as we fight bow-front as we should, anything hitting there has to either penetrate the main battery compartments or come from the flanks. If either of those happens, might as well start stripping away armor and hope the shot overpenetrates._ "

"That's true," Garcia admitted, "but you tell the crew no armor best armor."

" _I'm just a humble AI. Giving inspiring speeches is_ your _responsibility, I'm just the brain behind them._ "

Garcia laughed, a dry, dead sound, before dismissing the model with a wave. "Well, note my concerns about the armoring, but otherwise this looks alright. Just remind me to keep the ship angled, alright? I'm not getting anyone needlessly killed to hail-mary a torpedo across the solar system."

" _You didn't have to ask. My job's already to sanity check you, sir._ " Verdant's expression twitched into a half-smile. " _With any luck, the Abbies are too scared to come back and I won't have to._ "

"I wouldn't count on that," Garcia said. "We didn't get all of their ships, they've got to know that Dawn's out for the count right now. They could be coming any day now to take us and her out while we're still licking our wounds, and _Scorpia_ 's in no condition to get out of dodge if they do."

Verdant held her hands up in a placating gesture. " _I wouldn't sprout any new grey hairs. I have it on good authority that Dawn is making a full and speedy recovery as we speak._ "

"After the beating that Abbie dished out?" Garcia scoffed. "I'll believe it when I see it. Superhuman, superpowered, sure, but no one just walks off being shish-kebabed… by the way, whatever happened to the Abbie? I've heard they're holding it on _Infinity_ — which I still think is a bad idea — but not much beyond that."

" _Ah._ " Verdant's avatar didn't move a voxel, but he could swear she gained a shifty look in her eyes. " _That… I'm not at liberty to say yet._ "

"But that means you know."

" _Captain, don't push this._ " The sudden steel in her voice took him by surprise. " _Look, I'm sorry, but there're things going on behind the scenes that you just aren't supposed to know about. I'm already toeing the line as it is._ "

"Uh huh." Garcia leaned back from the display table, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow. "Do these _things_ involve Dawn?"

" _What, concerned?_ "

"Why wouldn't I be? She saved my life. It's the least I can do to check in on her." He smirked and leaned in conspiratorially. "Besides, weren't you watching the combat footage just as closely?"

" _I do control the life support on this tub._ " Verdant sighed in frustration and blinked out her avatar. " _Look,_ " her disembodied voice said, " _you're not being kept in the dark for some super-shady reasons or anything. In fact, Admiral Lasky wants you present when Dawn's interrogation happens. Something about a familiar face making her more receptive to questions or some junk._ "

Garcia blinked twice. _"_ And _when_ were you planning on telling me this?" He needed to let the crew know, make sure they knew what to do if the Abyssals came knocking again, make sure the civvie techs didn't go poking _Scorpia_ where they shouldn't, and a hundred other things on his agenda he'd been planning to do. "When am I needed?"

" _Calm down, it's not happening_ right now, _though they are ready to receive you any time. Look, I get it. You want to check in on_ Dawn _again. I can hold down the fort for a while yet._ " Verdant took on a light teasing tone. " _Relax. It's a summons from the admiral. I imagine the official notice will be coming shortly — consider it an honor._ "

"An honor, huh?" Taking a breath, he realized how much time he had been spending on board _Scorpia_. Between campaigns, battles, repairs, and more battles, he probably hadn't stepped off for any significant time in months. "I guess I do need to get out…"

" _That you do_."

He looked around at the CIC one more time and let out a breath. _Scorpia_ wasn't some fragile thing, and he'd trust his crew with his life. The universe wouldn't implode if he wasn't there 24/7, he wouldn't pretend to be quite that important. "Alright. Get me a transport to _Infinity, ASAP_."

" _Already done, sir. Hangar Bay C._ "

* * *

Oblivious to the electronic exchange happening around her, Lieutenant Julie Armandez yawned and stretched her neck to one side, producing a satisfying crack. She repeated the motion the other way, then let out a large yawn and shook herself. The warm air was lethargy-inducing; if she wasn't careful she might fall asleep standing up. Standing guard over the hustle and bustle of Hangar Bay C wasn't exactly stimulating work, but it was necessary — at least, she told herself that. "Two more hours," she mumbled and looked wistfully at the cigarettes Laughley was distributing to Schwartz and Peterson. The corporal caught her gaze and grinned, holding out one of the smokes.

"Smoke, lieutenant?"

"You know I don't."

"You will, one of these days." As the two other marines mumbled their thanks and resumed their posts, he took a drag and blew a thin stream at the nearest filtration vent. "Come on, drop the holier-than-thou act. We're all adults, you don't need to act the role model."

"That's not—" She was interrupted by a sudden roar and a gust of oppressively hot air and turned towards the source, a Pelican coming to land within the hangar with a large transport and storage unit under its tail. It contained components to repair and replace the extensive damage incurred by Turul's surface batteries during the battle. Ordinarily, a cargo ship would deliver the parts en-masse, but with the civilian docks still clogged with the debris of Abyssal boarding craft and military docks crammed with damaged warships, the quickest solution was to bring them in by dropship.

A tug came forward to meet the Pelican as it settled to the deck, pulling a large dolly behind it. Its operator efficiently maneuvered beneath the transport unit, and the container fell onto the dolly with a clunk of disengaging locks. The tug drove away towards a service corridor, allowing the dropship's rear ramp to fall open and a line of civilians to begin boarding.

"… as I was saying, it's not that I'm playing a paragon of virtue." Laughley cocked an eyebrow. "I just don't want it to become a habit is all. The glow could give away my position"

The corporal snorted and flicked away a speck of ash. "It's not like I stick my head above the trench to do it. Besides, eltee, we're _marines_. Like, you can't get any lower than that on our galactic totem pole. We exist to die via orbital bombardment or artillery or airstrike or getting shanked through the back by some cocksucking active-camo'd alien sunuvabitch—" He paused and took another drag. "Point is, I'm a dead man walking, who cares if I light one up? Snipers probably already watch me piss, they'll shoot me when it's my time. Hell, if I buy it, maybe Mr. Spartan McAsslicker can use the muzzle flash to earn another medal."

"Good habits add up," Armandez countered. "A cigarette's a small thing, true, but if I start getting sloppy there, what's keeping me from slacking off somewhere else? Like you said, we're marines. If a Spartan's off their game, who cares? They've got energy shields and power armor and we don't. We might exist to get killed off on the whims of whoever writes this fucked-up story, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to postpone that time as long as possible."

"Let's be real here. Say I live a few more months — what can I really contribute? Like, mathematically, I'm pretty sure the costs of a slightly shortened lifespan are pretty negligible opposed to the pleasure of a good smoke." He snapped his fingers a few times, thinking hard. "Besides, that argument's like a, what do you call it, a slippery-slope fallacy right there, lieutenant."

"Now you're just being a pedantic ass." She flipped the bird at his cheeky grin and turned away. Laughley had a point, but not smoking was one of the precious few things she could control to increase her life expectancy, unlike being flattened by orbital bombardment or having her throat cut by a cloaked Abyssal, both typical occurrences on the modern battlefield. They'd had this conversation before, more than likely would in the future, and neither of them would change until the day they died.

Laughley interrupted her thoughts with a yawn and stretched his arms out to the sides. By all accounts, he seemed bored and unalert, but Armandez noticed his eyes subtly sweeping his sector of the hangar bay, and turned to do the same with hers. A line of civilians — technicians, businesspeople, families — many sporting varying degrees of injuries, awaited transport or evacuation. The scene was mirrored across the many landing pads of the expansive hangar, each line watched carefully by several marines. The lack of unrest made for a pleasant surprise; apparently, the harsh reality of an Abyssal invasion served to quiet even those most resentful of UNSC control.

Well, most of them, she mentally amended as shouts echoed from across the bay, followed by a radio report of a disturbance. Two marines surrounded a man curled up on the ground, kicking and swinging crackling stun batons. Another marine laid on the deck a fair distance away, slowly picking herself up and sporting a bloody nose. The man gave one final cry and fell silent, but the blows continued until a pool of blood began spreading on the deck. The injured marine swung one last vengeful kick into the man's groin before being helped away, her assailant dragged along behind.

"Civvies are getting antsy," Schwartz commented, as if a man had not just been beaten half to death, "not that I blame them. If I was stuck not knowing when the big bad aliens were coming back, I'd want off and far away as well."

"Even if they're scared, you'd think they'd know better than to punch the people trying to protect them," Peterson replied.

Armandez shrugged. "I'm inclined to agree, because I don't like getting punched, but you can't honestly say that we have a great track record of keeping people safe." That got a round of morose nods. "That breeds some resentment, especially if we demand they obey us anyway. Doesn't mean that guy didn't deserve what he got, though."

"He's done for," Laughley agreed. "Stupid bastard. Still can't believe Petra got decked like that, he must've gotten a cheap shot."

"There's no such thing as a cheap shot. You lot are getting sloppy. Remind me to schedule sparring practice." Armandez turned to glare at her own line of civilians, most of whom were craning their necks to get a look at the commotion. "What're you all looking at? Eyes down, feet forward!"

"You heard the lieutenant, mind your own business!" Peterson moved forward, rifle up, and bullied the civilians back into order. "Idiots!" A few of them looked mutinous, but no one raised a hand to resist.

"God, this is so _boring_ ," Schwartz muttered, scratching under her helmet's chinstrap. "Lieutenant, how much longer are we gonna be here?"

Armandez gave an apologetic shrug and half-smile. "5th Platoon relieves us at 1600. Until then, we're stuck here."

"Fuuuuuck…" She ran a hand down her face and breathed deeply. "It's so stuffy in here…"

It _was_ rather stifling. Conscious of the sweat beading on her forehead, Armandez tugged absentmindedly at her collar and wished her flak vest was made something much more breathable. The ventilation systems did their best to clear the air, but the nonstop comings and goings of dropships, evaporating fuel, and the natural body heat of crowded humanity produced a constant haze that blanketed the hangar. A few marines coped with it by wearing respirators, but she'd forgotten her own on _Scorpia_. "Step out for a sec if you need to, I not gonna make you pass out to stand post. These civvies aren't making trouble anyway."

Startled but thankful, Schwartz nodded and hastened for the exit, muttering, "Thanks lieutenant," as she passed, Peterson hot on her heels.

"Remember to hydrate!" Armandez called after them. As soon as they disappeared from sight, Laughley stubbed out his cigarette, threw in a nearby ashtray and sidled closer, a shifty look in his eyes.

"Lieutenant—"

"If this is about standing down early, forget it."

"No, no, no. Look, I know we're on duty, but did you hear the latest scuttlebutt?" He adopted a defensive look at Armandez's exasperated expression. "What? It's not like we're actually doing anything."

"Do you have _any_ concept of delayed gratification whatsoever?"

"Nope!"

"Hell." She loathed to admit it, but she _was_ bored. "Rumors are like assholes. What's yours?"

Keeping one eye on the civilians, he beckoned her closer. "A'ight, so you know that Abbie commander? The one that sent the 'do what I say or I'mma kill ya' message?" At her nod, he forged on. "Okay, and you know Dawn beat the shit out of that thing?"

"Really? That girl?" Armandez raised her eyebrows. "You know what? I can believe it, after the number she did to the Abbies in here." She shook her head in amazement. "First she takes down the Abbie fleet then goes mano-a-mano with the head baddie… shit, I need to start hitting the gym more."

"That's for sure. But there's more. Just heard it through the grapevine; that Abbie?" Laughley paused for dramatic effect. Despite herself, Armandez leaned in closer. "It's not dead." A long moment passed. "Oh, come on, you're supposed to act more shocked!"

"No, I'm just trying and failing to see a way that two people walk away from that kind of fight."

"Spoilsport. But I've got a friend on _Infinity_ , says Dawn was _super_ fucked-up when they brought her in. I'm talking, like, you can see the light of day clean through her kind of fucked-up."

"Got herself shanked, did she?" Abandoning any pretense of being on guard, Armandez turned fully towards Laughley. "Is she alright?"

"I heard that she had some sort of accelerated healing going on, like Wolverine — which is a special kind of bullshit, by the way. Just for once, can _we_ get something cool like that?" He smirked and tilted his head as if looking at his superior from a different angle. "Why all the concern, eltee?"

"Can't have her dying before I can thank her for saving our asses."

"Sure, sure. Anyway, that's not my point. I heard they've got that Abbie locked up somewhere on board _Infinity_! Never happened before, how crazy is that?" Laughley shook his head with a grin. "Man, if you told me all this a couple days ago, I'd have called you a crazy—"

"Wait, wait." Armandez stepped back with a look of consternation. "You're saying they took that thing alive? It didn't just run away?"

"Well, yeah, I thought I implied that."

"Abbies never get captured, everyone knows that. We never get the chance 'cause they always kill themselves!"

"Yeah, that's — hold on a sec. Hey, hey mate, back off, you hear?!" Laughley turned to shout at a couple of civilians who were subtly trying to edge closer to the conversation. "Mind your own business and stay in line! No eavesdropping!"

"Well, when's the transport coming? We've been here for hours!"

"It'll come when it comes, now get lost! Fucking idiots. What was I saying? Right, that's why this is special. First Abyssal we've ever captured, and it's a commander too! Only…" The corporal trailed off, pursing his lips together. "Well, it's a bit unbelievable, this next part."

"This whole thing's unbelievable, keep going."

He let out a breath and shrugged. "Alright then. My sources say that when they brought the Abbie in — under heavy lock and key, mind you — it looked… different."

"Being beat into the dirt'll do that to you."

"No, no, different as in… well, you know how Abbies generally look, right? Well, right before they tossed the thing into a cell, my source got a look at its face. They said that it looked almost…" Laughley glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. "… human."

It was probably Armandez's imagination running wild, but she could swear the air chilled just as Laughley said it. She wanted to scoff and dismiss him, but the past week had been so strange that she found herself seriously trying to imagine what that would look like. She shivered involuntarily. "Well, it's got two arms and two legs, right? Maybe that's what your 'friend' meant."

"No, listen, they said its face, it looked human! Like, a human girl!" Armandez did an internal double-take at the note of fear entering his voice. "Jesus, lieutenant, what if, if that alien could have a human face, what's to say that Dawn… well, Dawn definitely ain't totally human, now is she?"

The implication was clear, even if neither wanted to spell it out — or for it to be true, for that matter. "I'd like to think it won't come to that. And anyway, didn't your 'friend' also say that Dawn's still in pretty rough shape, even with her 'healing factor'? In that case, even if she does turn on us, she's only one weakened person against a ship full of guns. I think we're pretty safe."

"As long as we stay off _Infinity_ , yeah we are." Laughley shivered despite the warmth and glanced in the direction of the hangar bay opening. "It's not that I suddenly hate her or anything, it's just… well, I dunno what they were thinking, taking that Abbie aboard the flagship. If nothing else, what if it breaks out? That thing beat up something that thrashed an entire division of Abbie troops, what'll it do to us?"

"Stow that talk," Armandez snapped, "you'll drive yourself crazy thinking about that. We need to trust that the brass and the spooks know what they're doing. You said it yourself, we're marines. What else can we do?"

"Jackshit." As he spoke, Laughley pulled out a fresh smoke and lit up. "Absolute jackshit. You're right, though, lieutenant. The spooks will do whatever they want. I'll be happy so long as I am nowhere within a hundred thousand klicks of that thing."

"Amen to that. Amen to that."

Two things happened simultaneously, right as Armandez finished speaking. First, an automated announcement informed the hangar bay that a Pelican was coming to land on pad 15 — the pad she was guarding. Then, as civilians began chattering with happy relief, her radio crackled.

" _Lieutenant Armandez, this is Verdant. Do you receive me, over?_ "

"Verdant?" With a glance at Laughley, Armandez keyed to answer. "I copy. Is there a situation, over?"

" _Captain Garcia is coming to Hangar Bay C. Prepare your unit to escort him to UNSC_ Infinity _, over._ "

"Say again, Verdant, _Infinity,_ over?"

" _Yes. Admiral Lasky has requested his presence, and you are the most available detachment right now. Prepare to transfer to_ Infinity _on the next Pelican_ , out."

The transmission cut off unceremoniously. Armandez looked slowly over at Laughley and had to stifle a laugh as the dullest, most world-weary pair of eyes she'd ever seen stared back. If she squinted, she could almost make out his soul leaving his body. "I just had to open my big fat mouth, didn't I, lieutenant?"

"It can't be that bad. Civvies aren't going to be happy, though, I think we're hijacking their flight."

"They'll just have to deal with it." Laughley pressed his face into his hand and didn't remove it for a long moment. "Someone, somewhere, finds our suffering funny. Why else would the universe have such a great sense of timing?"

"Come on, chin up. I hear they've got an arboretum on the upper decks." Armandez grinned, a genuine smile. "I haven't seen a living tree in years."

* * *

"It's a new day, rise and shine!"

"Ohh…" Dawn's eyes slowly opened as she surfaced from a surreal dream involving grilled chicken and nuclear fusion. A blurry image swam into view, eventually resolving into a corpsman standing at the foot of her hospital bed.

"Good morning! How are we doing today?"

"Is it morning?" Dawn blinked and blearily glanced at the clock on the far wall of the ward. Despite several hours of sleep, she didn't feel much more rested or refreshed. "Aw… I swear I only closed my eyes for a second…" She turned her head slowly from side to side, cracking out a kink in her neck and getting an eyeful of the light green isolation curtains which separated her from the patients on either side. "Doesn't help that you guys barely turn down the lights," she groused, shaking her head in an unsuccessful try at clearing the fog from her brain.

"You seem to have slept well enough anyway, and you're still healing. It's natural to be tired." The corpsman clucked his tongue as he checked the monitors at her bedside. "Vitals alright, everything seems fine. No new developments overnight. Any undue discomfort?"

"No more than usual." She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, nodding appreciatively at the relative lack of pain in her chest and back — relative here meaning her muscles and bones were merely on strike instead of a full-on proletarian revolution. "Kind of woozy, _very_ sore everywhere, and I've learned to avoid being skewered, but it's mostly like I never even got shot full of holes in the first place."

The corpsman chuckled as he reached over to swap out an IV bag. "That'll do it to you. But you're full of surprises, aren't you? A beating that could knock an ODST out for days, and you're up and talking like nothing happened."

"Ah, you're just flattering me now. I couldn't swat a fly right now." She leaned to the side to stay out of the way, wincing as her core groaned under the strain of the simple movement. "And, well, I didn't do anything, really. My damage control teams deserve the credit for sealing off the damage as well as they did."

To his credit, the corpsman didn't bat an eye. "You'll have to introduce me sometime. I'd love to learn from anyone who can keep someone going through a collapsed lung and twenty-eight stab wounds." He secured the fresh and stood back to evaluate his handiwork. "You're sure there are no problems with the surgery sites?"

"I mean, I'm no doctor… but I don't think I'm bleeding? At least, externally? Sorry, not totally in sync with myself, still getting a feel for the new model, you know?" She gestured lamely to herself. Beneath her gown, her skin was covered with dozens of felt pen marks large and small indicating healing surgical sites. Despite multiple assurances that nothing was removed, Dawn sometimes had to check if her appendix was still inside and not under a microscope somewhere.

"Fair enough," the corpsman replied, peering at another monitor. "Blood count looks normal. Doctor Myers thinks we've managed to flush your system out, and it doesn't look like there's any lasting damage." The corpsman tutted disapprovingly. "All the same, you're not to use any sort of combat drugs for a month, at least until we get a better idea of how they interact with your, um, physiology. Doctor's orders, understood?"

"Aye aye, doc."

"Rumbledrugs, in your condition, what were they thinking? It's risky enough in a healthy person…" He pursed his lips and gave Dawn a bit of side-eye. "You're sure, no pain? No headaches of any kind?"

It was barely perceptible, but his voice held a slight note of apprehension that Dawn only picked up with the help of a few auditory subroutines. She gave the corpsman an odd look but decided to ignore it. "It feels like the tail end of an ultra-marathon more than anything." She sighed in half-fond exasperation. "I appreciate it, I really do, but you shouldn't be spending so much time on me. I'm fine, honestly. There're others who could use it a lot more."

"To be brutally honest, you're more important."

A uniformed man stepped around the curtains. Dawn shivered as he stared at her, eyes hidden behind an opaque dull-orange visor. The rest of his face was equally inscrutable, not a hint of a smile or a frown visible in his perfectly neutral lips or jawline. He stood at the foot of her bed and held the eye contact for a long moment, and then a moment longer until she felt obligated to break the tense silence.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Instead of replying, the man turned to the corpsman, revealing the commander's emblem on his shoulder. "What's your evaluation?"

The corpsman grimaced as he spoke, reluctance written in every word. "She's stable enough for transfer, although I caution against it. At the very least please keep any strain down to a minimum. It's still very much a touch-and-go situation, especially since we don't have a good grasp on how her healing works."

"Hey, excuse me?" Dawn called out indignantly, "Could you not talk about me like I'm not here? I know I'm an invalid, but I'm not deaf!"

The commander tilted his head like he was being bothered by a fly. "Is the subject always like this?"

"Eh… more pleasant company, usually, but just as loud."

"Hey!"

"In any case, corpsman, your concerns are noted. Now, please prepare the subject for transfer."

"… yes, sir."

Dawn shot out her arm and grabbed the corpsman's wrist as he moved to secure the IVs and vitals monitors. "Excuse me, but can I get an explanation?!" she hissed. "If I'm about to disappear into some secret ONI lab, I'd at least like a heads-up!"

"Not so hard!" The corpsman twisted out of her grasp and stood back, rubbing his wrist. "It's nothing like that. Look, I…" He trailed off and looked over his shoulder at the commander, and got the tiniest nod in return. "It's nothing like that. You saved our collective asses and pulled off one of the biggest intelligence coups in recent history to boot, and I personally believe you are firmly on our side, but command can't just take things at face value. You're still technically an unknown, possibly hostile, and protocol is _pretty_ clear. They're going to grill you until they're sure you're not, then grill you some more. Hands, please." She wordlessly presented her hands and he snapped a sturdy pair of handcuffs around her wrists, followed by a pair with more slack around her ankles. "It's nothing personal. Hell, it could be a lot worse. Just imagine what they're doing to that Abbie!"

"Wait, that's — you mean Amber—"

"That's quite enough." The commander cut her train of thought off with a clap. "Is the subject secured?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Spartan Mordeaux, Spartan Kenniston, please take custody of the subject."

" _Understood._ " Dawn's eyes bugged out as, before her eyes, a pair of 7-foot tall hunks of power armor, machine guns and cutting-edge biological, chemical, and technological augmentations decloaked with a shimmer of active camouflage. " _Kenniston._ "

" _Roger that._ " The Spartan in light grey armor with green highlights moved to her side and grabbed her firmly, but not quite roughly, by her arm. " _Stand up._ "

"Spartans…?" Dawn whispered, doing her best to comply with bound limbs. After two days in bed, her legs felt like soggy pasta as she tried to find her footing on the cold deck. A pair of hospital slippers landed in front of her, and she gratefully slid her feet in. "I thought… but…"

" _Don't move._ " Mordeaux snapped a thick, heavy collar around her neck, attached to a stiff metal pole. On reflex, Dawn tried to reach up to loosen it, but a slight twitch of Kenniston's assault rifle dissuaded her. She settled for a hard swallow and tried to ignore the pressure on her throat. A quick glance to her side showed the corpsman looking almost as miserable. " _There's seven pounds of C12 in this collar. One wrong move and your head's gone._ "

"Deja vu, I've been in this place before…" she muttered. "I thought we were past this stage?"

In response, Mordeaux picked up the pole and the commander took hold of a rope attached to the handcuffs. With her head and arms controlled and the range of motion of her legs limited, Dawn could only do her best to shuffle forward as Mordeaux put a firm hand on her back. " _Start moving._ "

With Kenniston shadowing her with his rifle and seven pounds of explosive under her chin, her bruised dignity was the last thing on Dawn's mind. The corpsman gave a small wave good-bye and an encouraging smile as he stepped back to let the little entourage past. The other patients in the sickbay stared unashamedly as they walked down the rows of beds, though the faceless visors of the two Spartans sweeping back and forth discouraged any smart comments. She almost fell over in surprise when two more Spartans decloaked as they exited the sickbay, but Mordeaux's firm grip on the pole kept her standing by her neck. "Gack—!" Recovering from nearly strangling herself, she shot a resentful glare back at the blue-and-yellow armored Spartan as his two new comrades fell into formation alongside. "I thought the point _wasn't_ to kill me?"

The lack of response characterized the rest of the very long walk. Dawn tried to crack a few jokes or somehow break the ice, but eventually fell into silence with the rest. Just as well; internally, she was reeling from the apparently highly unremarkable existence of Spartans. Obviously, these weren't from the same cohort as the Chief and his brethren. The degree of customization on their armor and the use of names instead of numbers gave that much away. And, logically, the UNSC wouldn't just give up on making new Spartans, not after the Covenant War. But the fact that enough existed that the UNSC could afford to spare four of them just to guard her, and the fact that no one they passed seemed very impressed by their presence — it was all so surreally _mundane_. After the Fall of Reach, Spartans, and the Chief in particular, had taken on a literally mythical status. A Spartan in the wild was like seeing a unicorn, if that unicorn had been an invincible grey-green blur ripping through Covenant lines and leaving a helpful trail of blue-purple blood to follow. She just couldn't reconcile these cookie-cutter Spartans, who received no more than a sideways glance and a respectful nod from the marines and sailors they passed, with the living demigods who hushed rooms full of generals and admirals just by entering that she remembered.

Speaking of the marines and sailors they passed…

Most of them paid their odd little entourage little mind, which Dawn found strange but quite welcome at the same time. The ones who did, though obviously a little on edge, didn't seem to have any hostility in their gazes. Some even smiled at her or whispered small encouragement. The fact that she had at least some allies on the same ship as her went a long way to making the long, cold walk more bearable, sustaining her until they reached a nondescript side corridor. The commander led them to the end, then held his wrist up to a panel on the wall. A door slid open to reveal a plain room with a single table, a chair, and a holotank. "The subject will take a seat."

" _Yes, sir. Will you stand?_ "

"I have prior commitments. Now, take it in."

Dawn was only too happy to comply. A relieved groan escaped her as Mordeaux guided her over to sit in the chair. The door closed on a view of the commander's back as he turned to leave, leaving her alone with the Spartans. Her feet, numb from the chilly deck despite the slippers, rejoiced as her weight finally left them, and she was so busy trying to flex some feeling back into her calves that she almost didn't notice as the Spartans locked her ankle and wrist cuffs into anchor points on the table and floor, or when they reactivated their active camouflage. She looked up to find herself the only person in the room, but even the best active camo couldn't get rid of the tingling only the presence of four superhuman killing machines could induce on the back of her neck. "New tricks, huh?" she muttered, conducting a subtle infrared scan. "Kinda jealous, not gonna lie," she added when the scan came up empty. "That trick could've come in handy… well, several times already."

" _Feeling left out, are we?_ "

"Ah!" If not for the restraints, Dawn would have fallen out of her chair as a voice suddenly came from the holotank on the table. A small, yellow-hued World War II pilot materialized in front of her, a smirk on his holographic face. "Jesus, don't do that to me! W-who are you?"

" _Relax, relax, I don't bite._ " He put a hand to his chest and leaned forward in a half-bow. " _I'm Roland. Pleased to make your acquaintance._ "

"Roland?" A wary eye on the AI, she tried to recall the name and salvage her dignity — a tall order in a hospital gown and hair falling all over her face. "Sorry, I don't think we've met."

" _Probably not. I'm Admiral Lasky's personal aide."_ He extended a conciliatory hand. " _Sorry for startling you, but a guy's got to get his laughs somewhere. Hey, relax, I'm just here to chat for a bit. Watch any movies lately?_ "

"No. Of course not. Um, no offense to you or the admiral, but why'd he send you? Shouldn't you be an intelligence officer or something?"

" _Offense taken, first of all. I'm just as good as any spook you'll find out there._ " He counted his points off on his fingers. " _Second of all, a formal interrogation this ain't. More like a… meet and greet, since nobody's had a chance to sit down and get to know you a little better._ " He stopped on the third finger. " _Finally, I'm the one who convinced the admiral not to blow you out of the sky when you made your entrance._ " Setting his fingers down, he gave a nonchalant shrug that managed to be exceedingly smug. " _So I think I've earned a chat, don't you?_ "

"Ah. Um." Dawn blinked, which she was finding to be a rather useful reaction. "Should I thank you?"

" _You are very welcome. Though, maybe I should be thanking you. I would have eventually figured a way to beat the Abbies, but your efforts were very useful in extricating us from our bind._ " He gestured towards her wrists. " _Speaking of binds, sorry about those. Necessary precautions._ "

"Uh…" Dawn blinked at Roland's rapid-fire speech. "Alright, train's left the station and I'm not on it. Why, exactly, am I here, and not relaxing in a slightly uncomfortable hospital bed?"

Roland deflated a little. " _No fun, straight to business? Boo. I guess I can respect that, though._ " He clapped his hands for attention. " _Ay, you meatheads in the corners there, none of this leaves the room, understand? Remember: I see you when you're sleeping._ " Dawn tried to detect a reaction out of the corner of her eye, but active camo was apparently much better than she remembered — not so much as a shimmer of movement. " _Alright, down to work. I had you brought here so we could talk somewhere private._ "

"Private?" Dawn raised an eyebrow. "What are those guys, chopped liver? For that matter, if this is so hush-hush, what's the bright idea behind making such a big scene in bringing me here?"

" _We'll get to that._ " Roland sighed, taking off his helmet and running a hand through his hair. " _Look, don't take this the wrong way, but you're a huge headache for me right now. A headache in a good sort of way, I mean — ugh, this is coming out wrong._ "

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." She rattled her restraints for emphasis.

Roland clapped his hands again. " _Excellent! Because as soon as you step off this ship, ONI's going to lay claim to you and your immortal soul and whisk you off to some lab, never to be seen again._ " He put a finger to his chin and tutted. " _Actually, scratch that. They might even do it while you're on board._ "

A moment passed while that sunk in. "Wait, what? Come on, I know I was joking about that but I didn't actually mean it!"

" _Oh no, I'm very serious right now. Think about it; you're a walking, talking, man-sized package of weird-ass tech that can put a round through an Abyssal armor belt from seventy thousand klicks. Just imagine the kind of discoveries we could make if we cut you open! Oh, you've gone pale. Are you sick?_ "

Dawn leaned back, suddenly feeling quite queasy. "Excuse me? That's— I'm not—"

Roland waggled a finger. " _Ah ah ah, not done here. See, under normal xeno-tech protocols, we should have already turned you over to the relevant organizations for research and probably eventual dissection. Hell, given the frankly massive tech boost you could prove to be, it's probably even the right and proper thing to do._ " His smirk grew wider as Dawn grew paler. " _Any whiter and you'll turn purple. Ah, but if I wanted to do the right and proper thing, what's the point of even talking to you now? Admiral Lasky thinks, and I happen to agree, that as a sentient being the circumstances surrounding you are slightly different._ "

She lacked any sort of formal biological education, but Dawn was reasonably certain her heart wasn't supposed to beat that fast. She tried to wipe the sweat from her palms but only succeeded in rattling the chains again. "Well, there's nowhere to go but up. Lay it on me."

" _I was going to anyway._ " Roland held up his hands and wobbled them like a scale. " _The admiral wants to give you a choice. Give yourself to the greater good? Or continue to fight on the frontline—_ "

"The second one!" Dawn blinked, then flushed. "Ahem, I mean, yes, the second option you mentioned _does_ seem more appealing. Though it's rather selfish, I guess… Of course, I will accept any decision that the admiral makes though I—"

" _Whoooa there, slow your roll._ " Roland motioned for her to relax. " _In a startling turn of events no one could have predicted, Admiral Lasky shares that opinion. And, in a fantastical and improbable coincidence, so do I!_ " He made a 'ta-da' motion. " _Lucky you._ "

"He does?" Her heartbeat slowed from a snare drum roll to mere tap dance. "Well, I mean, of course he does, why wouldn't he? Ha, ha ha…"

Roland sighed and covered his face with a palm. " _God save me from the bravado of humans. Look, given that we aren't even sure that your tech can be reverse-engineered into something mass-producable, or that it's even compatible with our stuff in the first place, the admiral feels that, until we have more observations to go off of, your certain value as a combat unit outweighs your possible value as a research specimen._ "

Heart lifting, Dawn chanced a half-smile as she said, "Well, that's great, isn't it? So you can just let me go and—"

" _But of course, since nothing can be easy, it's not so simple._ " He sagely bobbed his holographic head. " _Tough, isn't it? Welcome to the modern UNSC. ONI's got protocol and precedent on their side, and they're not going to let one admiral, however illustrious, and his opinions get in the way of research._ "

And back down her heart went, along with that smile. "Ah. Of course." Head drooping, she stared at her hands in their cuffs. She could probably break them with a little effort… if only she was sure summoning her damaged equipment wouldn't also bring back the damage to her body. Also the little matter of the four Spartans, any one of whom could probably break her in half before she could say 'just a prank', but they were a strictly secondary concern. "But you wouldn't have told me this if you didn't have a plan to change that, right?"

" _I'm flattered you think so highly of me! And, as a matter of fact, I do. I simply have to put together an argument as to why your military value outweighs your scientific, one that'll stand up to legal scrutiny, win over a military tribunal in the face of thirty years of precedent and regulation, and convince them not to sanction the admiral and me for directly and knowingly flouting a general directive._ " He smiled brightly, ignoring Dawn's dumfounded expression. " _Of course, even when I pull all that off, ONI might just ignore the ruling anyway… but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it! So!_ " He fell back into a suddenly appearing holographic chair, hands comfortably folded on his chest and one leg crossed. " _To do that, I need some information, so I'm going to ask you a few questions. Is that alright? Not that you have much of a choice._ "

Dawn nodded slowly. She'd known that, sooner or later, there would be an interrogation— " _Don't think of it as an interrogation, more of a, ah, pre-interrogation!_ " — no matter what. This setting, even with four invisible super soldiers in attendance, was much preferable to a cell in the Oort Cloud. "Okay, then. If that's what it'll take me to keep me fighting, and out of a lab… ask away."

 _"Wonderful. Don't worry, we aren't too pressed for time. That little Spartan parade sent a pretty clear hands-off message to anyone watching._ " Roland nodded at an empty patch of air. " _But at the same time, that's no reason to dilly-dally, so let's get started right away then, shall we?_ " Despite his reassurances, the pit in Dawn's stomach grew deeper as Roland's grin grew wider, and she couldn't help but feel she'd made some huge mistake. " _Question one: How exactly do you summon your equipment?_ "

 _The greater good is sounding pretty good right now,_ Dawn thought, as the questions began coming, one after another in a never-ending stream…

* * *

 _Gabriel_ 's starboard rippled with gunfire as her point defenses lit up a wave of Abyssal strike craft. Shells, missiles, lasers, and plasma bolts lashed out, turning dozens of fighters and bombers into shattered, melted wrecks as incoming fire battered at her powerful shields. Her main battery hurled a volley of MAC shells and plasma beams at a distant foe as she pulled through a maximum-acceleration turn, letting her portside secondaries join in the pummeling. Her starboard side shields fell, allowing several fireballs to blossom against the ablative armor belt, just in time to reinforce the portside as a return volley crashed into her. The battleship pulled out of the smoke, battered but fully operational, as a distant flash signaled the destruction of her Abyssal counterpart.

" _Exercise concluded. UNSC_ Gabriel _is standing by._ "

"Stand down and return to formation. Excellent work, it's good to see you in top form."

" _Many thanks, admiral_."

The simulated damage and wreckage faded as _Gabriel_ slowly made her way back to her battlegroup. Throughout Reach orbit, other ships lined up to take their turn at combat exercises. Frigates and corvettes practiced torpedo runs, destroyers fended off illusory waves of missiles and chased down damaged Abyssal light units, and cruisers and battleships held the battleline firm against simulated torrents of enemy fire. The majority of the fleet still remained there, anticipating another attack, but with the probability of a follow-on force fading after two days ships were beginning to fan out across the system, assessing the damage to the other worlds and scattered outposts of Epsilon Eridani.

Fortunately, Reach seemed to have suffered the brunt of the assault, as the steady trickle of incoming reports so helpfully informed Lasky. The pace was, thankfully, much reduced compared to the frenetic tempo of combat, but it still seemed he couldn't pass five minutes without receiving new news.

"Do you think," he said quietly after listening to a report on the repair queue at the Tribute Orbital Yards, "that God looks forward to Judgement Day so He'll never have to hear another report on our sins?"

"I think that the number of reports _that_ would generate would keep Him busy for another few eternities, sir," Captain Shen replied, reviewing the results of _Infinity_ 's own point defense exercises. "And lo did Adam and Eve partake of the forbidden fruit of knowledge, thus man would be cursed to receive reports forevermore."

"It certainly feels like I'm being punished for my sins." Lasky rotated the main display as he spoke. "Give me the status of the Manassas Defense Cluster, please."

"Manassas Station is eighty percent complete with repairs. Battleship Divisions Four and Six, Cruiser Divisions Five, Eight, Nine, and Ten, and accompanying destroyer and frigate squadrons remain on station at full combat readiness."

"Thank you." He caught a glimpse of Shen's raised eyebrow. "Concerns, captain?"

"Sir. Only that spreading our forces through Reach orbit could spread us too thin and leave us unable to defend any single point satisfactorily."

"That is a risk," Lasky admitted, "but our priority is to protect the people of Reach. We would've lost the entire evacuation because I didn't consider the possibility of being flanked, and we almost still did, despite several miracles. I won't let that happen again." He brought up a diagram of fleet deployment and highlighted Manassas Station. "Besides, even if the initial force concentration doesn't favor us, if the Abyssals concentrate all their attacks on one side it allows forces in another position to safely move beyond the range of the jammers to jump behind them. With proper warning and ODP positioning, we should be able to hold our own."

"I understand, sir. It's the proper warning part I'm doubtful of."

"A few minutes is all we need. The monitoring stations are crewed by good people, we have to trust they can provide it."

"As you say, admiral." Shen glanced at his datapad and frowned. "Excuse me, sir." A pair of officers hastened out of his way as he walked over to the tactical station. "Lieutenant Zhou, is this all we were able to get out of our Mosquito pods?"

Lasky let the discussion fade into the background. He conducted a surreptitious survey for eavesdroppers, then tapped several times to pull a few files. Shrinking them and pretending to study the larger display, he whispered, "Roland, report."

It took a second, but the AI whispered back directly into his mind through his neural lace. " _More specific, please, otherwise we could be here for hours._ "

"Start with your fact-finding mission on Turul. Give me the Martian Digest version."

" _And I had such a wonderful story to tell too, full of drama and romance and mystery_." Lasky could hear the shrug in Roland's voice. " _Very well, sir, I'll have to settle for the synopsis._ _The full book is available for purchase, by the way—_ "

"Roland, not all of us run on electricity, and I'd like to get something resembling sleep tonight."

" _Right, right._ " A moment passed as the AI collected himself. " _Well, in a_ slightly _annoying turn of events, my fragment got caught intruding_ Scorpia _'s databanks. Her resident AI is better than I gave her credit for._ "

"What?" Lasky mentally cursed himself for his inability to keep his voice from rising. He waved away the gazes of several officers, staring intently at a readout of fleet fuel reserves, and continued quietly. "We're breaking several general directives and regulations here," he hissed, "and if anyone gets wind of this—"

" _Calm down now, Verdant actually turned out to be quite sympathetic to my arguments. She's agreed not to spill, and before you ask, I do have more than just her word. I didn't even have to subvert her logic routines to get her to come around. As a side effect, another part of our little scheme got moved up as well, but I'll get to that._ " Lasky's datapad vibrated in his pocket. " _I just sent the files._ "

"All's well that ends well, I suppose. One moment." Lasky raised his voice. "Slot Patrol Group 5 in front of the refueling queue as soon as they complete their sweep. They're running on fumes and I won't have anyone being caught empty if the Abbies come back. And remind BXR that if they can't pick up the pace, Liang-Dortmund will be happy to take over our rush order. We'll find a way to compensate them, but we have no idea if supplies are coming and we need that deuterium _now_." Dropping his volume back down, he continued, "And Verdant is the one who caught you?"

" _Yes, once you get through first impressions she's actually quite good company. Might invite her to dinner one of these days, get to know the person beneath the code. Who knows? Moving on!_ " Roland hastily added, forestalling another rebuke, " _part two of our plans is coming along nicely. Do you remember a certain Captain Garcia?_ "

" _Scorpia_ 's CO? Distinctly." Lasky let out a small snort as he replaced the fuel reserves with a display of ammunition stocks. "Reminds me of me, speaking up against superior officers. I'd find it charming if I didn't understand why my instructors at Corbulo hated me."

" _Er, yes, well, given that his command is minor and unlikely to be combat-important or ready in the near future, and that he has already had personal experience dealing with the er, problem,_ and _that he doesn't seem likely to see her as an expendable weapon…_ " Roland paused for simulated breath, and to give Lasky a chance to catch up. " _Well, he seems to fit your criteria. Until someone better suited is found, of course._ "

"I'll run with that. What's his status?" Lasky held up a finger. "Actually, let me guess. He's on his way here right now."

" _He is currently — actually, yes. Good guess, admiral. How'd you know?_ "

"It's what would cause the biggest headache for me, so of course it's what's happening." He let out a slow breath through his nose and counted to five. "Have someone take him to quarters and _keep him there_ until everything's on the same page."

" _Aye, sir. Verdant had high recommendations for him, I don't think he'll cause much trouble._ "

"Oh, Verdant did, did she?" Muttering something indiscernible and unrepeatable, Lasky shuffled ships around in the ammunition supply queue and made a note to prioritize replenishment of MAC rounds. "Well, enough of that. How did your Q and A go?"

" _Decent enough. I sent the transcript to you as well. There's quite a bit of pseudo-spiritual mumbo-jumbo in there. You could almost make a religion out of this._ "

"Kindly don't. Your ego doesn't need any more fluffing."

" _Hey hey, check out the life of the party here!_ " Roland chuckled, but his voice quickly turned serious. " _Imagine understanding something, then imagine the exact opposite of that feeling. That's just about what that meet-and-greet produced. That girl… she didn't seem to be lying. My voice and body language analyses didn't turn anything up, and the Spartans in the room didn't notice anything either. So either she wins all the Oscars forever, or she really is telling the truth that she is the spirit of the_ Dawn _brought back in human form… but then that would mean that ships actually have spirits, in a literal sense, and that opens up a whole other can of worms. Like, are they conscious even while in their original form? And do our perceptions shape them, or are they set in stone from the beginning? Do they have any agency? Are they—_ "

"Roland," Lasky snapped, "I appreciate stimulating intellectual discussion as much as the next person, but _not now._ "

" _Right. Sorry. The point is, our master plan of legally securing Dawn for the Navy? Looking less likely by the second. Remember my snooping around_ Scorpia _? It seems our good captain Garcia took the liberty of a DNA sample off of our mutual friend. Surprise surprise, she's not quite human! While I suspected as much, it makes any attempt to fend off ONI by enlisting or commissioning her as an officer that much trickier._ "

Lasky grit his teeth, studying a casualty list and trying not to crush the display table in his grip. "We've gone this far, might as well go a little further. Purge that data, _without_ getting caught this time."

" _Yeeeeah, thing is, our local ONI agent_ also _took a sample. And_ that _data is quite conveniently out of my reach._ " Lasky could practically hear Roland's slow, resigned nod. " _But we could eventually work around that. There's legal precedent for granting aliens human rank, and it was always only a temporary solution. The other slice of the pickle is that, for all her good intentions, Dawn's cooperation just made her case harder to argue. It'd be bad enough if she was some rando human using alien tech. If what she says is true, and she's the spirit of the_ Forward Unto _Dawn, it could definitely be argued that she is an integral part of the ship itself, almost a sort of mental pattern a la Riemann matrix or the Composer. And since what's left of FFG-201_ _has been ONI property since 2553, ONI has fairly good grounds on which to, ah, 'reclaim' a misplaced asset._ "

The table was definitely bending under his grip. With an effort, Lasky made himself relax and stand back, dismissing the casualty list. He'd go over it on his own time, and make sure every person behind every name was properly remembered. Forcing himself back to an even keel, keenly aware of the furtive stares being shot his way from around the bridge, he said loudly, "Captain Shen, alert me immediately if anything happens. I'm going for a short walk."

"Yes, sir," Shen replied from by the helm, then turned back to the hapless lieutenant manning the station. "We should have been through this turn in half the time it took. Can you tell me what went wrong?"

Lasky chuckled as the bridge doors closed on that scene. However, the smile quickly faded away as he walked past the marines guarding the bridge, distractedly returning their salutes and declining their offer of an escort. "Sorry, Roland, had to get some fresh air," he muttered. "Back to what you were saying, that doesn't sound good at all."

" _No. It really isn't._ "

"Make sure the formal interrogation is being conducted by people we trust. Keep this under wraps until we know how to argue this. Otherwise," he said, posture slumping as he reached a corridor with no one in it, "we'll just have to deal with it when the time comes."

" _Roger that, procrastination modules engaged. That's all I have to report on that front. Anything else you wanted to talk about?_ "

"Just our communications," Lasky said, pausing to help a sailor struggling to maneuver a trolley around a corner, "with HIGHCOM. Any luck while I wasn't paying attention?"

" _I hate to disappoint, sir._ "

"I see." He bit his lip as he stepped by to allow a maintenance crew past. "Have we diagnosed the problem yet?"

" _There doesn't appear to be any damage to the comm beacons. Could be the Abyssals did some spooky space-voodoo that messed with them. I mean, we know so little about them, they might as well be magicians as well._ "

"Forgive me if I doubt it's due to magic. Keep me posted, comms are our top priority." Lasky paused in the middle of the corridor, brow furrowing. "Damn, I'm forgetting something. Something… _Cormorant!"_ He'd almost forgot about the corvette dispatched to raise the alarm with HIGHCOM. "Any update on her status?"

" _She_ _was dispatched only two days ago. The Reach-Earth circuit is usually three days. It'll still be a little while before we hear from her._ "

"That's true… damn!" Lasky stopped again and slapped his forehead. "I forgot to send another message with our updated status. Roland, do we have any untasked corvettes?"

"Peregrine, Egret, _and_ Swallow _are currently not in repairs or on urgent assignment._ Egret _underwent drive maintenance most recently._ "

"Dispatch _Egret_ to Earth with this message: Enemy forces repulsed. Request for support downgraded to urgent. Working to restore direct communications. Awaiting further orders." He made sure to leave out any mention of Dawn as he dictated the message. "Tell her to pull out all the stops, or half the Home Fleet's not going to be happy to find out that the party's over and everyone's gone home without them."

" _Already done. Do you think this radio silence is just technical issues?_ "

 _"_ It's probably nothing. Keep this under wraps as well. No need to worry anyone who doesn't already know." Lasky made his way towards the lift, suddenly aware of how empty his stomach was. "I'm going to the mess hall."

" _Not your wardroom?_ "

"The crew ought to see their admiral. I need to talk to them, understand how they're doing, reassure them that everything's going to be okay and that there's a plan." But even as he made his way to the mess, his heart slowly sank into his stomach. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that this silence _wasn't_ due to problems on his end.

* * *

The food, Stalwart-class frigate FFG-142 UNSC In Amber Clad thought, tasted quite good. She had no baseline to compare to — the very idea of flavor was a novel concept — but at the very least the pasta in sauce on the tray in front of her didn't make her gag. She took another bite, chewing slowly to explore every facet of her newfound sense of taste and to avoid burning her throat, and tried to ignore the chainguns leveled at her head.

It made for a rather absurd sight; a thin girl in a thinner hospital gown, shackled to the wall by her neck, sitting on a bed bolted to the floor in the middle of a secure isolation ward, digging into a spaghetti and meatballs MRE, every move watched by a pair of roof mounted sentry turrets. She didn't know what her crimes were, but she could read between the lines. The only thing keeping her brains inside her skull was the thin armor of discipline. Better to keep her eyes down, speak only when spoken to, and make no trouble.

"Um." She looked down at the empty tray, then around for a trash can. "Hello? Should I…?"

" _Slide it to the door._ " She leaned down and slid the tray across the floor. " _Now turn around, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head._ " Her left knee hit the floor at a strange angle, sending a jolt of pain up her leg, but she didn't dare cry out. Biting back a yelp and a coughing fit, she heard the door open behind her. There were a few footsteps as someone removed the tray, and then it closed again. " _Resume your previous position._ "

"Sorry for the trouble…" Amber mumbled, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to get comfortable on the paper-thin mattress. The thing barely deserved the name, being more of a glorified tarp laid on top of a metal frame. If the idea was to keep her from sleeping, it was working quite well.

Not that sleep would have come easily anyway. For one, every time she tried to drift off, a coughing fit which felt like her lungs were trying to implode would hit her. It was a miracle she wasn't coughing up blood at this point just from irritating her throat. Add to that the persistent headache, lethargy, and … well, she found herself sympathizing with every sailor who'd ever been ill on board her. So many new sensations she couldn't even name from every part of her body, and each one was _miserable_. Was her immune system so pathetic that she could come down with the flu even in a sterile, isolated cell?

While it sucked, the flu itself wasn't too concerning. Amber could deal with being sick. What worried her more was the massive gap in her memories. The last thing she clearly remembered before waking up chained to a bed was the Flood-infested interior of High Charity and the sickening, terrifying sensation of infection forms invading her systems. The memory of those crawling, poking, legs, those pulsating, sickly bodies, spreading their biomass throughout her corridors and turning her into _their_ puppet was enough to make her stomach lurch and bring a whimper to her lips. She forced the images away — they couldn't get her here.

Focus! Between then and now, everything was covered by a fog. She sensed something laid behind, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't break through. It was maddening, especially since she was certain the answer to her current predicament laid in those missing memories. On occasion, if she really tried, she could get a vague impression, an feeling more than anything, of being trapped in a tiny room, but that was hardly anything to go on without more context. A series of harsh coughs forced her to abandon her efforts there, and she leaned her head back against the wall with a groan of frustration. Not for the first time, she wondered where Dawn was. The other frigate seemed to understand what was going on, but after their initial meeting in the sickbay, she hadn't seen hide nor tail of her. "Can't someone just tell me what's going on?" she sighed. "Firing squad or not, I just want to _know._ "

"Careful what you wish for."

 _When did the door open?!_ Amber jerked her head up at the same time she scooted back. The end result was that for a few moments, all she could see was alternating black and white starbursts, and all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. "Ow, ow ow ow!"

"You'll understand my lack of sympathy." Her vision cleared to the point where she could make out the person in front of her. A woman in a grey uniform of unfamiliar design, holding a datapad and looking at her with frigid eyes. On her shoulder was a patch with a black triangle decorated with a single eye. Amber felt a chill run down her spine.

"ONI? You're ONI?"

The ONI agent — the woman had to be an ONI agent — raised an eyebrow. "I guess it's flattering that our reputation crosses species." A marine handed her a stool through the door, one hand on his rifle and one eye on Amber. "Thank you. Now beat it." The door closed and the woman sat down with a groan, pulling out and scanning a datapd. " _Scheiße,_ I've been on my feet all day. This uniform does not breathe _at all_."

Amber finally found her voice. Keeping her legs protectively drawn up in front of herself, she asked, "W-who are you? What do you want? What have I done?!"

The agent held up a hand, not bothering to look up. "Easy there, don't get worked up. There're about twenty marines out there who'd be more than happy to tear your head off and use it for a football. Let's not give them a reason to — especially since I've reason to suspect you're innocent."

"You — what?" Amber's eyes widened, and even a coughing fit couldn't dampen a sudden burst of hope. "I'm sorry. It's just… I don't understand what's happening. Everyone hates me for some reason, but no one will tell me why and I just can't _remember_ anything!" Suddenly aware she was shouting, she clamped her mouth shut as heat rushed to her face. "I'm just scared," she admitted in a whisper.

"Hm." The agent hadn't budged throughout Amber's entire outburst. Finally, she put away her datapad and leaned forward, elbows on legs. "Perfectly natural to be, especially since if you don't answer my questions you'll be out an airlock with a bloody hole in your pretty little forehead before the week is out, and _that_ would be inconvenient for both you and me. So what do you say?" She tilted her head like a curious dog. "Shall we work together here?"

Amber's answer came immediately but upon seeing the smile spread across the agent's face, she regretted not thinking it through a little more.


	6. Chapter 6

"Thank you for your cooperation."

The ONI agent stood up and gathered her notes and audio recorder. Amber watched her closely, trying to tease out a hint of the woman's inner thoughts. No luck, though, her poker face put the most seasoned gamblers on the Lunar Circuit to shame. Amber would know; some of her crew counted—had counted among that number. She could remember them gleefully counting their winnings like it was yesterday instead of thirty years ago…

"Uh, you're welcome? I guess?"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it." The agent snapped her briefcase shut and looked up. "Though on reflection, that's a bit rich, coming from someone like me. In any case, you won't breathe a word of what we discussed to anyone." It wasn't a request. Amber quickly nodded, trying to massage away a painful prickly sensation in her legs, quite a feat with her wrists linked by a short length of tough metal cable. She was becoming less enamored with her body by the minute. "Well, I'll be seeing you around. _Auf Wiedersehen_ and _au revoir_ and all that."

"Wait!" Amber slapped a hand over her mouth and flushed red. The agent stopped and turned, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes? I haven't got all day."

"U-uh—" Amber nearly quailed under the absolute lack of care in the agent's gaze, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and forged on. "F-forgive me, can I ask a question?"

"Eh?" The agent looked down at her watch and shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Mess hall's serving 'til 2, currywurst and cabbage stew special." Her mouth bent oddly, like she was trying to frown and smile at the same time. "It's rather on the nose, but at the same time I'm looking forward to it too much to get mad. Too bad you won't be seeing a bite of it."

"Um…" Amber had, in fact, had a question in mind, but the agent's unexpected acquiescence and the thought of food had temporarily occupied her headspace. The spaghetti MRE had already parted ways with her stomach, and despite having no experience with either the idea of freshly cooked meat and vegetables had her mouth watering.

"Oh, fucking gross, close your mouth! You look like a dog."

"Ah. Sorry." What else could she really say? Amber wiped the corner of her mouth, trying to compose herself and recall her question. "Do you really think that data can prove my innocence?"

"Oh, this?" The agent wiggled her briefcase. "No. People are stupid, and data on its own is never enough to convince anyone of anything. But is it enough to form an argument for a stay of execution? Yes." She leaned forwards, a leering smirk on her face. "Of course, the strength of that argument depends on your continued cooperation. If you were to violate my most generous terms… well, it'd be a shame if some less flattering data were to accidentally find its way to a few less-friendly parties, wouldn't it?"

Amber had no response to that. The agent's smirk grew wider and she straightened back up, . "Behave yourself, alright? Peace." On cue, the cell door slid open. Briefcase hanging from one wrist, she walked past the guard at the door without a backwards glance. As she left, the marine shot an acidic glare at Amber then slammed her fist against the door control. The thick slab of metal slid back into place with a hiss and a thunk, leaving Amber to wonder how, within two days, she'd been reincarnated as a human being, imprisoned, then hired — was hired the right word when blackmail was involved? — as an ONI informant.

But, more important than her new job, was the revelation that she stood accused of being a war criminal, confirmed responsible for the destruction of one world and quite probably several more, along with hundreds of millions of deaths. She was a soldier of a mysterious alien empire whose sole purpose seemed to be destroying humanity. The evidence was there, heaps of it, in the form of video recordings and after-action reports and lifeless balls of rock covered with ruins floating through space. Her crimes were undeniable.

So why couldn't she remember any of it?

* * *

A few of the more idle men and women he passed bothered to salute, but for the most part Garcia was ignored as he walked down _Infinity_ 's long hallways, just another officer on a ship lousy with them. His sole marine escort — just a corporal named Laughley — did turn a couple of disapproving heads with his lackadaisical posture, but on the whole it was a welcome change from Turul where, as highest ranked officer and therefore de facto military governor, he was constantly stopping to listen to civilian requests and grievances. However, the sheer length of _Infinity_ was starting to get to him, and he was beginning to doubt whether he'd done the right thing in coming. "Verdant, are you sure Admiral Lasky sent the invitation?"

Verdant's voice came through his neural implant, echoing in his mind. _Reasonably. Would you like to read the message again?_

"Well, like you said, we _are_ early. The fact that they've let us come this far is encouraging, but I don't want to be rude…"

 _Bit late for that. Think of the marine, Captain. You've made him walk all this way, surely it wasn't for nothing?_

"I suppose…" Thinking about his actions, Garcia couldn't help but feel like a prize idiot. Rushing off on a hint that Admiral Lasky wanted to meet him, forcing a unit of marines to come along and the admiral to make accommodations, — was he really that desperate to go somewhere, do something? Was this what he was reduced to now? At least Verdant's tipoff had proven true, with a request for a meeting coming soon after boarding the Pelican, but Garcia couldn't help but read a hint of irritation into the wording, as if Lasky had been forced to send the invitation much earlier than intended. "I've made an ass of myself already, nothing for it but to go the whole way."

 _Highly unfortunate phrasing, but I agree with the sentiment._ " Verdant took on a teasing tone. _Remember, the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can see, what was her name again? D-a-w—_

"Quiet, you. And what's wrong with that, anyway? Can't I want to see a friend?"

 _Oh, so it's friends now? I'm all for friendliness, Captain, but relationships are like fine wines — they need time. Patience is a virtue and such._

"And I'm not sure I like what you're implying there, so shut up and be a good backseat driver, will you?" The last part came out a bit louder than he intended, drawing a few odd looks from passing sailors. Garcia smiled apologetically, then snuck a glance at Laughley. The marine seemed not to have noticed, but then again he didn't seem to notice anything — keyword there being seemed. His visit to the _Infinity_ might have ended in her medbay when a utility cart blindsided him in a busy intersection had Laughley not reached out and plucked him back in the nick of time, without so much as blinking or losing that ever-present flat, dead-fish look in his eyes. Garcia couldn't tell how much of that was natural and how much was deliberately affected to unsettle him, but he couldn't deny the man's efficacy. "How close are we?"

 _Just a little further now._ The crowds thinned out as he drew close to the admiral's ready room, Laughley ever two steps behind him. A marine standing guard within a small sentry post came to attention and saluted as he approached. Behind him, the corridor split into a t-shaped intersection. One path lead to a conference room, another to the CIC, and the final one to Lasky's quarters. _Annnnd here we are, like I said. I'll be going silent now so you two can have a private conversation. Spill the tea later. Peace._

"Don't get into any more trouble, hear me?" Verdant provided no response, but Garcia heard a small, haughty sniff as she signed off.

The marine held his hand out. "Your ID, sir." Garcia presented his identification badge and waited as the marine ran his credentials. "One moment." He handed the badge back with one hand and pressed a button with another, leaning into a small microphone. "Admiral Lasky, one Captain Garcia to see you, sir."

" _Send him in, please,_ " came the reply. The marine nodded and typed something into his computer.

"Understood. Captain Garcia, Admiral Lasky is expecting you in his ready room." Reaching out to the control panel, he suddenly stopped, eyeing Laughley. "Apologies, sir, but the admiral requested privacy for this meeting. Your guard will have to remain outside."

"Ah. Well, that is…"

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, I got it." Laughley tipped his helmet back to rub his temples. "There a place for me to sit or something? 'Cause I ain't gonna stand for half an hour, that's for sure."

"I'm sure I can find something. In the meantime, Captain, if you please."

The ready room door was already open as Garcia approached. The compartment itself was a relatively modest affair, a brightly lit room occupied by a nondescript desk, a small bookshelf, a coffee table, a few chairs and a potted plant in the corner. Another door, partially open, lead to a bathroom and sleeping quarters. Small light grey patches, rough around the edges, marred the walls, marking where splinters from a disintegrating Abyssal 30 cm railgun shell had torn through.

"Ah, Captain." Admiral Lasky himself sat at the desk, staring intently at a computer. "Please sit. I'll be with you in a moment." He motioned to a pot of coffee sitting on the table. "Help yourself, it's fresh."

"Thank you, sir." Closing the door behind himself, Garcia grabbed a paper cup from a nearby stack and filled it with hot coffee and just a spot of creamer. It was a high quality brew, its fragrance filled with complex notes and aromas. "Perks of rank," he muttered quietly, taking a sip and savoring the rich aftertaste and delicate hints of sweetness. "I've got to find out the source."

At the smell and sound of pouring coffee, Lasky turned his computer off with a sigh and a click and stood up. "Apologies for the wait," he said, walking over to the table and pulling up one of the chairs. "It's been a while since we spoke. How have you been, captain?"

"Oh… managing." Garcia's posture sagged as he ran a hand over his face. He held back a curse as he realized he'd forgotten to shave. "Normally I'm first in line for a bit of peace and quiet, but this feels… different, somehow."

Lasky raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

"Feels rather like everyone's waiting around for something to happen and nobody can properly rest. And that's alright too, milling around in a staging area's nothing new, but when your ship's laid up like _Scorpia_ is… well, being unimportant is one thing. Being useless is another."

"Hmph. Some would consider themselves lucky to have sat through it. A matter of perspective, I suppose." Lasky lifted a cup from the stack and swirled the coffee around in the pot. "Strictly between you and me, but Governor Leonard could use a bit of it," he said, slanting a baleful side-eye towards his desk.

"Oh?" Garcia took another careful sip of his coffee, curiosity and propriety battling behind a carefully neutral expression. Curiosity wrestled propriety into the mat, and he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Though I understand why it's a damn good thing that we're ultimately subordinate to a civilian government, sometimes I still find myself falling into the 'damned politicians' mindset." Lasky began pouring himself a cup as he continued, "Governor Leonard insists that I resume the flow of commercial traffic through Epsilon Eridani immediately, and while I sympathize, he doesn't understand that if the Abyssals come back we can't afford to be dealing with a mess of panicking freighters at the same time. I've explained that we just need a little more time to be sure, but he must ultimately represent his constituents. I just wish he wouldn't be so… intransigent." He drank, made an appreciative noise, then set the cup down and folded his hands in his lap. "But enough about my troubles. We have something to discuss."

"I… I suppose so." _Though I honestly don't know exactly what that is._

"You don't really know about what, do you? I guess that's to be expected. I didn't include many details in my invitation." A brief shadow of irritation flitted across Lasky's brow and his words contained a hint of acid. "In my defense, you didn't leave me much time to write it."

"Ah, well, about that…" Garcia smiled sheepishly. "I blame my AI?"

"Feels like a common theme these days. AIs going behind our backs, making life difficult." Lasky shot a meaningful look at the roof. "Consider this an official reprimand. It was quite a hassle to find accommodations for you plus a squad of marines. And the preparations made to keep our chat off the books… well, I hope the half-measures Roland slapped together can take their place."

Garcia felt his face warming up and kept his gaze focused on his coffee. "My… my sincere apologies, sir. I didn't intend to be a burden. If Roland needs assistance, I'm sure Verdant—"

"Quite unnecessary." Lasky stared at him with narrowed eyes for a few more seconds, then waved his apology away with a grunt. "It could've been worse. At least no one was left standing around like an idiot. No harm, no foul. Just don't make it a habit of rushing off on any rumor or hint. I've done it and seen it done before, it never ends well, particularly if the rumors have anything to do with aliens or ancient technology."

"Duly noted, sir." There was definitely a story behind that, but much of the Requiem Campaign remained classified for a good reason. Shivering at the thought of ONI agents appearing in the dead of night, Garcia tried to change the subject. "I let my eagerness get the better of me. I'll do better in the future."

"As well you should. Dash and daring are all well and good and romantic, but this isn't the 18th century. They won't serve you well in your new position, Captain."

"Of course—" Garcia blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "Excuse me, sir, my new position? I'm still _Scorpia_ 's captain."

Lasky made a funny noise and shook his head, gesturing with his cup. "Let's be frank. _Scorpia_ was a fine ship, but right now she _'_ s a wreck that's not going anywhere anytime soon. You're commander of a pile of scrap, Captain." Garcia winced but stayed silent. As much as he loved _Scorpia_ , he couldn't deny reality. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. From what I've had time to read, it was a quite a feat simply to get out of Roseport alive. The fact that any of the evacuation made it out as well is simply icing on the cake. But it does leave you in the awkward position of being a captain without a ship."

"It does, doesn't it?" His coffee suddenly didn't taste so good. "But unless you've got a spare destroyer sitting in the yards, I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"Spare ships is a problem I would love to have," Lasky remarked dryly. "In the meantime, I'll have to make do with too many officers. While your combat record is undistinguished, to say the least, there is a certain… incident which caught my eye. Whitehall ring a bell?"

Garcia's face darkened for a moment and he set his coffee down. "Whitehall? That was nothing special."

"Oh yes?" Lasky reached behind him, grabbed a datapad, tapped it a few times and turned it around on the table. "So why was it so hard to dig up any information on Battlegroup _Theseus?_ "

A chill went down Garcia's spine. "Sir, how did you—"

"You need friends in high places to pull some of my stunts. Sometimes those friends owe me a few favors as well." Lasky sipped his drink, looking very pleased with himself. "There's not much use going over every fine detail. Classified weapons projects are a dime a dozen, I'd wager half the Navy's been involved with NAVSPECWAR in one way or another. And classified weapons projects going sideways are also depressingly common. What stands out about you, though, is the fact that you managed to handle that little mess with a bit more subtlety than a pile of bricks."

"And that's supposed to mean—?"

"The Navy has a less than stellar track record of adapting to situations as they come. Battlegroup _Stalingrad_ , Procyon III, the entire Requiem Campaign, naval history is littered with inefficiency, intransigence, and a general inability to change tactics as the situation requires. I'm guilty of it myself. Even when the test went sideways, you managed to keep your head on your shoulders and extricate your battlegroup. Most other officers I know would have rammed their ships against the problem until the problem won, sticking to orders like they were a replacement for a brain. Though it got you sanctioned and blacklisted from ever commanding a formation again, that shows a certain… flexibility that I might find useful."

"Useful, sir?" Garcia chuckled despite himself and shook his head, throwing back the dregs of his coffee. "Pardon me, but—what, do you have some secret weapons projects of your own, or—oh." Realization struck him like the aforementioned pile of bricks. "Ohhh."

"I knew I saw a spark of intelligence in you. Good to see it wasn't a one shot wonder." Another tap projected a rotating hologram of a woman, bits of data and charts swirling around her image. "Now, we've had Forward Unto Dawn in our, shall we say, employ for a few days, under strict guard and observation for a few days more. In that time, we've seen no signs of sabotage, espionage, or general disloyalty or hostility." Lasky waved the image away and replaced it with a ONI emblem. "I've also, for a few days, had an ONI operative under observation. I assume you're familiar with the one?"

"I can guess who you're talking about."

Lasky pulled a face. "Let's just say she's been snooping around and getting awfully close to a few subjects I would prefer she not get close to."

"That does sound awfully like our friend Agent Berlin. What's she done with Dawn?"

"Nothing as of yet, but I think it's only a matter of time before she makes a move to stake ONI's claim on her. And once she does — well, have you ever read Alice in Wonderland? Except instead of a rabbit hole, it's an ONI black site."

"What?!" Garcia shot to his feet, empty coffee cup crushed in his fist. "She can't do that! Dawn's under Naval custody, even ONI can't just swoop in and snatch her like that!"

Lasky motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, but you've hit the nail on the head." The admiral's expression turned bitter. "I'll be brief. You said it yourself, Forward Unto Dawn is in Navy custody. She's not a Navy _asset_. As such, our authority over her is tenuous at best and without any real standing, insofar as claiming it supersedes ONI's. So yes, they _can_ just swoop in and snatch her like that."

Garcia slumped forwards, elbows on his knees. "All due respect, sir, you're making this all sound quite hopeless." He raised his gaze to meet Lasky's. "But you wouldn't have called me in just to tell me so, would you?"

"Three times makes a pattern." Lasky smirked, but quickly returned to frowning. "Of course, establishing her status as a naval asset is easy enough. Just grant her a commission and throw her under someone's command. The problem is, if I plan to justify her existence as an active combat asset, I need to actually use her in combat. I've got no problems with that; the problem is finding the right commander. Someone who's both available, and exhibits certain characteristics that I'm looking for. So, Captain." The smirk was back, full force. "I think it's high time the Navy asserted a bit of authority in the face of the Office of _Naval_ Intelligence, what say you?"

"Sir… if you're implying what I think…" Garcia gulped and unconsciously crossed his arms. "Why me, sir?"

"It's a question I've been asking myself. More coffee?" Lasky shrugged when Garcia shook his head. "Suit yourself. Flexibility aside, why would I choose a strictly average, unremarkable, semi-secretly sanctioned destroyer skipper for this job? Why you, specifically, over any number of more experienced or higher ranking officers, or officers who have distinguished themselves in combat? If flexibility was my only criteria, mavericks, loose cannons, rebels, and those damned wannabe action-hero "fuck the system" types are a dime a dozen."

"I almost feel like you're trying to talk yourself out of your own decision, sir."

"So based solely on that criteria, you're the last man I'd have tapped," Lasky continued, as if Garcia had never spoken. "As you must've gathered though, there's something more to you. Since that little outburst during the staff conference — count yourself blessed you're not getting a reprimand for that as well — I've had my eye on you. Most of my staff see Forward Unto Dawn as little more than a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded. You though, you seem to to also see her as a person. Someone who has their own will and spirit. A soldier, yes, to take orders and carry them out, but not to be thought of as a machine to be used until broken." Dawn's image came back and Lasky frowned at it. "Call me a sentimental fool, but I think that our experience with Spartans shows us that there is a limit to what even super soldiers can tolerate, only so much before they crack. And what about one who has that strength, but not the years of training, indoctrination, and propaganda?" He glanced up at Garcia. "So there you have it."

The captain sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting everything he'd heard. "I…" He gulped and had another go. "So what is my official title, sir?"

"Never did get around to that, did I? I had a few ideas, some bad, some worse. In the end though, I rather liked the sound of Commander, Fleet Auxiliary Forces." Lasky smiled and spread his hands. "Rather an upgrade in title, if I say so myself."

"Fleet Auxiliary Forces…" It was rather a mouthful. He'd have to come up with a shorter name, but something more dignified than 'shipgirl'. In the meantime, though… "I think like the sound of that as well, sir."

"Then it's settled!" Lasky clapped his hands together. "You start immediately. Of course, you'll still need somewhere to base out of, so I'll grant you an office on _Infinity_ until provisions can be made to repair and upgrade _Scorpia_ 's command facilities."

"My thanks, sir." Head still spinning, Garcia took that as his cue to stand up. Lasky followed him, extending a hand. "Um, is that all?" he asked, only half-conscious of the handshake.

"I would hope so." Lasky frowned down at his datapad. "Let's see… chew you out, grant you command, I think I hit everything on my to-do list. Unless there's something you wanted to bring up?"

"Actually, just one question, sir. When Verdant briefed me about this meeting, she also reminded me of the Abyssal we captured. I'd just like to know the current status of the prisoner, sir."

"Oh, that thing." Lasky's voice oozed distaste. "I know Berlin's also been talking to that thing. It's insisting that it doesn't know what's going on, but I don't buy it for a second. ONI can have it for all I care. Maybe they'll wring some useful intel out of it."

Something about that situation nearly gave Garcia pause, but he wasn't in a position to question it. He simply smiled, thanked Lasky one more time, and left the ready room, basking in the afterglow of a promotion and keeping his own skin, the issue of an alien prisoner already far from his mind.

* * *

"Is my shirt inside-out?"

" _No, why?"_

"Then why's everyone staring at me like it is?"

" _If I had to hazard a guess, the power-armored posse you've rounded up._ "

"The what—?" Dawn twisted her head around, sweeping the area with radar and lidar. "Oh, for the love of God… "

Spaced at regular intervals, forming a rough square centered around her, were four MJOLNIR-clad Spartan IVs. They silently kept pace with her, never quite looking straight at her but at the same time never looking away. Their armor stood out against the sterile white corridors and the ship's crew gave them a wide berth, but she'd somehow managed to completely miss them until Roland pointed them out.

" _Someone needs to work on their situational awareness,_ " the AI fragment riding around in the back of her head observed in a sing-song tone. " _For the record, I don't feel anything when you hit yourself like that._ "

"Shut up," Dawn growled, rubbing the red spot where she'd slapped the back of her neck. Determined to go back to ignoring the highly conspicuous super soldiers, she fixed her eyes forwards and continued on her way. To anyone else, she appeared single-minded, focused on nothing besides some distant objective. Inside, however, her mind was a million miles away, replaying the day's events.

After several hours worth of questions, during which Dawn alternated between wondering if Spartans could sleep standing up and contemplating bashing her brains out against the table, Roland had finally called an end to the 'pre-interrogation'. At that point, Dawn would have gladly accepted a cell in the Oort Cloud so long as it had enough room to stand and stretch.

" _Thank you for your cooperation,_ " he'd said, deliberately oblivious to the prickly hell her legs were going through.

"As if I had a choice," she'd grumbled, trying to massage some sensation back into her wrists and find any resemblance of slack in her ankle restraints. "Can I go back to bed now?"

" _Of course. I see no reason to keep you any further._ " The AI gestured to the door. " _Now, gentlemen, as we discussed?_ "

" _Affirmative._ " Even though she knew they were there, Dawn still jumped when the Spartans dropped their camouflage. Two of them came forward and unchained her from the table and floor, then helped her stand on wobbly legs. She murmured thanks while trying, with limited success, to rediscover how to walk, then started when one of the super soldiers took hold of her hands. " _Hold still._ " A moment passed, and the cuffs around her wrists and ankles fell away.

"Huh?" Dawn blinked, then looked to Roland. "W-what? What's this about?" She kept her hands and feet still, afraid this was some kind of test. "Aren't I still your prisoner?"

" _Now that's such an unfriendly word, isn't it? It's been two days and change and you haven't tried to kill anyone yet. Also not sure there'd be anything we could do about it if you did, but that's besides the point. I'd like to think we're on better terms now. Call yourself… a visitor, if not quite a guest._ "

And so once more, Dawn found herself being led through _Infinity_ in the company of four people who could give the Master Chief himself a run for his money in the quiet game. This time, however, there were no binders around her wrists and ankles. In addition, one of the Spartans had given her an actual pair of shoes, sweatpants, and a warm Navy-issue hoodie— Dawn didn't want to think too hard about where they'd been keeping them in that tight-fitting armor — to combat the incessant chill of _Infinity_ 's air conditioning that seeped through her hospital gown. Even she knew that the outfit was whatever the opposite of fashionable was, but it was comfy and soft and warm, so much so that when a nondescript door opened onto a small room with two sets of bunk beds she didn't even bother to change before collapsing on the lower left bed and passing out.

If she'd dreamed — could she even dream? — it hadn't been a very long or memorable one, because almost as soon as her eyes closed she was being woken up by an irritating voice next to her ear. She tried to bat it away, but only ended up passing her hand through a yellow hologram.

"Okay," she said, sitting up groggy and with a mouth tasting vaguely of titanium and stale deuterium, "Were you watching me sleep? Because that's creepy as hell and might be a crime."

Roland shrugged nonchalantly and pretended to inspect his fingernails. " _Just the last 10 minutes or so. And what're you gonna do, call the cops on me? You sleep like the dead, by the way._ "

"Comes with the territory. Consider it me learning about my new physiology." She looked down at her pillow and turned it over quickly, hoping Roland hadn't seen the drool stain. The innocent smile on his face said he had. "ANYway! You really couldn't have let me sleep for a little longer? It's really quite nice. I remember a few of my crew always had a hard time waking up for watch, I'm beginning to sympathize."

" _You slept for 10 hours straight and missed breakfast, it's practically lunchtime. Any longer and you'd have missed out on all the_ fun _we've planned for you today._ "

Still half-asleep she might be, but Dawn could still hear the suspiciously cheery tone in Roland's voice. "Who's 'we'?" She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to boot up all her mental processes. Her engineers snickered at her over ethereal cups of coffee, and she made a mental note to cut their supply off whenever she got back into armor and could get at them. "And what's 'fun'?"

" _Spoilers. Now put me in your head._ "

Dawn stared blankly at the opposite wall while her brain went through a few final pre-flight safety checks. As it did, her half-lidded gaze slowly turned towards Roland like the second hand on a rusted grandfather clock. "Excuse me, what?"

The AI rolled his eyes and adopted a patronizing tone… at least, Dawn assumed it was patronizing. " _You heard me, stick me in. Just because we're giving the leash some slack doesn't mean we aren't keeping an eye on you._ "

"Please, please don't say it like that," she groaned, "and that's not what I mean and you know it. How the hell am I supposed to uplink with you when I don't even have an implant for you to sit in?"

" _Actually, you do. Surprised you haven't noticed yourself._ " Dawn's hand flew to the back of her neck. Sure enough, her fingers brushed the hard plastic surface of a neural interface port embedded in her skin. It felt so natural that she hadn't even noticed it, but now she couldn't stop prodding at it. " _At this point I can only guess that you were born with it, which isn't natural in any way, shape, form, or definition of that word, but what about this situation is? Concerns about UNDA certified organic status aside, load me up._ "

 _"_ Ass. Is there a chip for me to yank, or…?"

" _Hah hah hah hah hah, no. We're not that far along that we'd trust you with a physical chip yet. Based on our chat, I know you have some remote data transfer abilities, so I've configured myself for remote upload. Anytime you're ready, just beam me up, Scotty._ "

"That's… not even close to my name." Now that she was aware of her implant, Dawn was also uncomfortably aware of the presence it occupied in her mind. Nothing obtrusive, but just like a little box in the corner of her consciousness, waiting for her to open it. Just like how if she thought about her breathing she couldn't stop thinking about it ah fuck other thoughts other thoughts other thoughts! With a vigorous shake of her head, she preparing the implant for an upload, hovered her hand over the holotank, then hesitated. Roland's smile faded as he waited for her to proceed.

" _What's the matter? Servos freeze up?_ "

"Sorry, it's just… aren't we moving a bit fast here? I hate to ruin whatever we've got going on here, but I can't forget that just a day ago I was pretty much a prisoner. A well-treated one, mind you, but there was always someone watching me, you know? And fast forward to now, like you said, you don't trust me with a physical chip. Do you really trust me to not somehow fuck with an upload of you when you're loaded in back there?"

" _First of all, I'm just a fragment, so it's no skin off my back if you pull a fast one. Second of all, even if you are just slightly superhuman, I can still think laps around you._ " The smile was back, with just the tiniest bit of threat in it. " _If anyone's fucking anyone, it's me._ "

"Pervert." It felt like her position in this odd relationship had shifted, and not for the better, but what choice did she have? Dawn placed her hand on the holotank and initiated a data transfer, setting a few subtle quarantine and tripwire protocols in her internal networks. She didn't know what Roland might be able to do in her head, but those would slow him down by a millisecond or two and alert her… in theory. Ice water trickled down her spine and it was all she could do not to shiver violently as the AI fragment integrated itself with her systems. "Well? Cozy?"

 _Eh. There's plenty of elbow room up here. Cute firewalls by the way, they're almost endearing. Subtle as a brick, but endearing, like baby's first…_ Roland trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was flat. _You've got to be shitting me._

"Huh? Is something wrong?" Her worry further blossomed when Roland failed to answer for a second. "Hey, this is my head we're talking about here!"

 _This spaghetti code is a travesty and an offense to common decency. These protocols haven't been used in decades! Forget combat efficiency, I want to rewrite these out of secondhand embarrassment._

A sense of relief was tempered by wounded pride and righteous anger. "Don't you dare!" Dawn shouted into thin air, "and quit poking through my head! I swear, if you mess my brain up because you couldn't resist fiddling with some code—"

 _Relax, relax. For how archaic and convoluted the architecture is, it hardly interfaces with your wetware at all. And now that I can get a good peek at your brain—_

" _You're looking at my brain?!_ "

— _the software is almost like an entire parallel organ, like the command protocols have molded themselves into an organic pattern, yet I can see that they're completely distinct from your actual neural structure. From what I can make of it, the entire structure is capable of independent function, yet subordinate to the control nodes which interface with your brain. And there are other nodes which seem to connect off into nowhere… could those be the interface locations for controlling your equipment? It would explain why the connections fizzle off into the void. Fascinating… this could make for an excellent paper or two. Would you mind providing—_

"Shut up! Get out of my head! Get out! Get ouuuuut!"

And so, thirty minutes, an angry lecture about boundaries and consent, a repentant-but-not-really smart AI, and a life-size game of Chutes and Ladders later, Dawn found herself in her present location, in a foul mood that four power-armored paparazzi were doing nothing to improve. While being near the Spartans still caused her ruthlessly suppressed internal Master Chief fangirl squeal, their constant presence was starting to grate. "You're the ship AI, aren't you?" she whispered. "While you're living rent-free in my head, mind calling the G-men off?"

 _Sorry, no can do. Spartan Ops, stubborn, insular bastards that they are, are outside my jurisdiction. You'd have to talk to the local Spartan Commander, and he only reports to the top brass in the system — that's Admiral Lasky._

"Okay, so when can I see him? 'Cause on one hand you lot are letting me wander around with four limbs free, and on the other hand…" She waved towards the Spartans. "I don't know a lot of people, but I get the feeling that those I do wouldn't like being followed around by four silent cyborgs who could feed them their own spines with a side of broken teeth. So I'd just like to clear up these mixed signals before someone inevitably misunderstands something and people, specifically me, get hurt."

 _We'll see. For now, just follow your nose. We're almost there._

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to give me high blood pressure. And my nose? What am I, some kind of—" Dawn's steps slowed to a stop as a cloud of chemicals wafted over her. Her mouth instantly began watering as smells she couldn't even begin to describe filled her nostrils. She forgot that she was standing in the middle of a busy hallway, forgot she was on a warship, even forgot that she was surrounded by people with guns who were just looking for a reason to shoot her; all she knew was that she needed to find the source. Distantly, she heard Roland talking to her, but her nose had superseded her other senses. Almost in a daze, she wove her away around sailors, marines, and trolleys piled high with all manner of crates and barrels, following the concentration gradient towards the source of those heavenly odors.

 _Oi, people have to mop that floor._

"Shut up," she replied, turning left through a wide doorway and getting a faceful of the most wonderful scents ever to grace her nose — though considering their competition consisted of smoke, titanium, blood and hard vacuum, there really wasn't too much of a contest. It was enough to set her stomach to rumbling and snap her out of her high. Wiping saliva from the corner of her mouth and ignoring Roland's tutting, she made her way into the expansive room before her. "What… is this?"

 _It's… it's a mess hall. Have you never seen a mess hall before?_

"It's so… so _big_." Roland left the low-hanging fruit on the branch as Dawn wandered deeper into the table-filled space, the Spartans quietly fanning out behind her to take positions around the edges, active camo up. She drew a few odd looks as she made her way down the rows, but for the large part the mess hall was filled with sailors coming off of 8-hour long watches. Most of them just wanted to be left alone with a warm meal, and of the few who noticed her, fewer cared. "There's… so much…"

 _So much what?_

"So much _food._ " She approached the serving counter, then paused. "Am I… am I allowed to eat this?"

 _No, this is a test to see if you can be trusted to act responsibly around valuable UNSC assets such as powdered eggs. Since we're a little past the 'enemy of my enemy' stage, figured it was alright to get you off IV nutrition and put something solid in that flesh sac. Unless you prefer to be fed through a tube? For all I know…_ As Dawn made a beeline for the trays, he continued, more hesitantly. _What's so impressive? I mean, it's a bigger mess hall than normal, but_ Infinity _'s a big ship_.

"Huh?" Ladling cabbage stew onto the tray, Dawn stopped to think. "Oh… well, food was a little hard to come by towards the end of the war. The Covie War, I mean. Hard to feed a few billion people when your farms are glass." Her voice stayed carefully light, but a shadow flitted across her expression, gone as soon as it came. "Well, I say that, but there was always food, just… well, plenty of days on quarter- or eighth-rations, is all." She began helping herself to sausages with curry ketchup, tongs trembling near imperceptibly. "So I better eat up while I can!"

 _…I'm sorry. That sounds difficult._

"Not looking for your pity." Dawn set the tongs down more forcefully than necessary and shouldered her way out of the line, bumping into a female officer on the way. "Excuse me," she said, scanning for an empty seat. Behind her and out of sight, the woman did a double take and stared hard at her back, holding up the line until someone yelled at her. Muttering in German, she forced an apologetic smile through her teeth, grabbed one last sausage, and headed in the same direction.

Filled with people grabbing some food before going on duty or relaxing after coming off, elbow room was a precious commodity in the mess hall. Dawn found herself sandwiched between an ordnance technician and an electrician, both of them too busy with their own conversations to notice one nondescript girl in a hoodie. Dispensing with a knife, she speared the sausages with a fork and tore chunks off with her teeth, a little bit more forcefully than strictly necessary. A few minutes passed like this, with Dawn attacking her food like it owed her money in blissful mental silence. It couldn't last forever, though.

 _… hey, look. I really didn't realize where you were coming from. I didn't mean to be insensitive. I'm sorry._

Roland's tone was unusually subdued, with none of his usual dryness. Dawn contemplated letting the tension stew, but eventually relented.

"Whatever. It was kind of unreasonable for me to expect you to realize that. I just… I dunno why, it ticks me off when someone apologizes for something they had nothing to do with, instead of for what they actually did." Her voice was beginning to rise, and she shot an apologetic smile to the crew members on her left and right before continuing in a whisper. "I couldn't tell you why I feel that way. It's not even anger, really; hell, I don't really even know what to call it. Look, I apologize as well. It's a tired excuse, but all of this really _is_ still new to me. I'm still figuring out how to deal with, you know, being _human_ ; just bear with me."

 _What do you think I've been doing this whole time?_

The words were sarcastic but the tone was warm. The tension faded from Dawn's shoulders and she started to eat again. However, she'd barely begun to bite when when Roland piped up once more.

 _Uh oh. Trouble. Do exactly as I say. Don't move._

"Huh? Trouble? Where?" An exasperated groan echoed in her mind as Dawn craned her neck around like a flamingo.

 _What did I just say?! Okay, forget stealth and subtlety and what not. Look left. You see that mean-looking girl with a full plate? Yes, that one, approaching fast. No, lost her, to the left, nope, to the right now y'all, one hop — there you go. That's an ONI agent._

"ONI—" Dawn stuffed a fist in her mouth and waited two seconds. "ONI?!" she hissed, much quieter. "Shit, is it 'cause of me?"

 _Most definitely. If I've read her correctly, she's definitely coming for you. Oh, it'll just be a 'conversation', but it'll be a conversation that ends up with you following her somewhere you don't want to go. And no, before you ask, ONI authority trumps your Spartans by a country mile. They won't do anything._

"Crap. What do I do?"

 _I—hm. Know what? I just might have a plan. Spill your drink._

"Pardon me? Do you want everyone—"

 _You heard me. Spill. Your. Drink._

Dawn swung her legs up and banged her knees against the table, upending her water and several nearby cups as well. Curses flew at her as she jumped to her feet, apologies spilling from her lips as she grabbed napkin after napkin and threw them onto the rapidly spreading puddles.

"Sorry, sorry!" she exclaimed, face flaming red, smiling sheepishly and offering meek apologies and her napkins to her dripping victims. "Sorry, here, let me dry this up." Several sailors stood up to wring out their shirts, blocking the ONI agent from approaching for a few more moments. Dawn ducked under the table, ostensibly to retrieve a cup which had rolled under, really to hiss, "Okay, what's the next step, Indiana?"

 _Indiana— oh, very clever. Just keep wiping and act natural… or as natural as you get._

"Some plan right there. Aren't you some bigshot AI? Surely there's a bit more of a spark in your matrix than that—"

"Ahem."

The sailors parted way, allowing a man in an officer's uniform through. He had commander's leaves on his shoulders and wore a pair of rather ill-fitting glasses. Caught with sodden napkins filling both hands, Dawn froze in a half-crouch, afraid to salute lest she look like an even greater idiot with water running down her face.

"Here, let me help." The officer bent down next to her and used his own napkin allotment to sop up a puddle of water. "Quite the spill."

"Y-yeah…" Dawn sighed and gave up on the soaked napkins and instead added the bottom of her shirt to the fight. "Sorry, sir. I stood up too quickly."

"It happens… hm." The officer stopped wiping and looked at her closely. "Hm. Your ID isn't registering. Name, rank, department?"

"Uh—"

 _Elizabeth Varley, corpsman third class, Medical._

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth Varley. Corpsman second — third! Third class, Medical, sir."

 _Smooth as a chainsaw._

"Medical? You don't show up on the personnel rosters. You better come with me."

" _Fuck._ " Dawn swore under her breath and stood up, shirt dripping. "Uh, sir, I just—"

The officer's expression, combined with the unsympathetic faces surrounding her, cut her protest short. As a last resort, she glanced at the places where she _thought_ the Spartans were, but there was no sign of movement on their part. With a sigh, she lowered her head and allowed the officer to lead her away, though not without casting a look back at the ONI agent still stuck behind a solid wall of sailors. The look on her face was absolutely _livid._

"Step in here, please." Some ways away from the mess hall, one of _Infinity_ 's medbays was only occupied by a single corpsman manning the intake desk. He looked up as the officer approached, nodded, then pressed a button. Dawn heard the compartment door lock behind them, followed by a shutter falling in front of the desk and blocking the corpsman from sight and sound. Confused, she looked up, only to see the officer removing his glasses and the insignia from his shoulders. "Never thought I'd ever wear those again. Simpler times…"

"S-sir?" What the hell was going on? Dawn had been expecting to be thrown in the brig, or a severe dressing-down at the very least. But a medbay? "I'm afraid I don't understand what's happening?"

"My apologies for bringing you here under false pretenses." Something about the man's voice was familiar… "Do you recognize me?"

"Uh." Dawn felt like a prize idiot. "I really don't, sir."

"The hologram quality wasn't the best, but I hoped you'd at least recognize my voice." The officer shook his head. "Admiral Thomas Lasky. A pleasure to meet you in person, Forward Unto Dawn."

"Admiral Lasky? Shit—" Reflex launched Dawn into a salute. "My sincere apologies for not recognizing you, sir! And for my language, sir! A-and for my—"

"At ease, at ease." Lasky waved her down, shaking his head. "I suppose my powers of disguise were greater than I gave them credit for. Amazing what a pair of glasses and a change of uniform will do when people aren't looking too closely." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You, on the other hand: Elizabeth Varley? Really?"

 _Oh, everyone's a critic._

"Shut up-!"

" _I'll take the blame for that one, sir._ " Roland materialized on a nearby holotank at parade rest. " _That's exactly the kind of name I'd come up with, so I can only assume that my fragment's been doing a passable impersonation of me. How's he been, by the way?_ "

It took Dawn, in her slightly shell-shocked state, a moment to realize the question was meant for her. She tore her gaze away from Lasky — though it still flitted back towards him — and turned to face Roland. "Uh, fine, I guess. Fine. Could stand to brush up on whatever privacy laws still exist, though."

 _You're no fun._

" _Don't be afraid if you ain't got nothing to hide._ " He snapped his fingers and pointed down at the holotank. " _Put your hand here so I can reintegrate and get him out of your headspace. Come on now, don't be shy._ " Dawn stretched out a tentative hand, but then stopped and looked at Lasky. He nodded, and she finished her motion and tapped the holotank. A cold, trickling sensation, like meltwater streaming down a mountain, rushed down her spine, and she was left with a deep sense of emptiness in the recesses of her brain. In contrast, Roland closed his eyes and stretched his arms out like he was receiving a blessing. " _There's the stuff. Interesting, interesting. I'll make sure to go over this later. In the meantime, please, call me if you need anything. And Admiral— attitude is everything in sales._ "

Lasky shook his head as Roland blinked away. "Cheeky little bastard, isn't he? What would I do without him…" Dawn's eyes snapped back to the Admiral as he stepped towards her. "Once again, my apologies for the false pretenses. I would've liked to conduct this in a more formal setting, but ONI has eyes everywhere."

Dawn found her voice, though it still held a note of surreal disbelief. "Ah—then, why here?"

Lasky shrugged. "Ethically, it would be an exceedingly questionable for me to invite you to my ready room, and both the CIC and ship's bridge are bugged to high hell. Even ONI can only stretch themselves so far, though, and this medbay is one of the few places that isn't monitored." He gestured to the still-shuttered intake desk. "I have faith in Corpsman Bryde's discretion — and Roland's security measures."

"Sir? Aren't you — aren't you afraid I'll attack you? Or something?"

"Well, given your track record, short though it may be, I hardly think that'll be an issue." He gestured to a spot of empty air. "And I doubt that they'd let you anyway." On cue, four Spartans dropped their active camoflage, just for a moment. Then they disappeared again, but the threat lingered. "So how about it? Will you attack me?"

"Probably not." _When the hell…?_ Astounded as always at the Spartans' ability to be such a non presence, and more than a little intimidated, Dawn brought her eyes back forwards. "Er, well, that aside, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, sir…?"

"Hm." Lasky pulled up a chair and gestured for Dawn to grab one as well. "Well, it's not all fun and introductions. I have a bit of business with you. And close your mouth, you look like a fish."

"Ah."

"Better. I have an offer for you."

"I'm all ears, sir." _I think it's one I can't refuse._

"Don't give me that look, I'm not forcing you to do anything. It's just that if you _don't_ take the offer, well —" Lasky waggled his hand. "It's a trope at this point, but I can't guarantee free room and board in the Oort Cloud aren't in your future."

Dawn swallowed hard. She remembered rumors about the Black Cells and the Midnight Facility as far back as 2550. God only knew how much worse they'd gotten 30 years later. "I'd like to stay within one AU of any stars we encounter."

"Wonderful." Lasky coughed and settled himself better. "Now, normally, I'd precede this with more formalities, but I think we're at the point where I can skip to the point. Forward Unto Dawn, are you willing accept a field commission as an ensign in the UNSC Navy Fleet Auxiliary Forces?"

Dawn blinked and tilted her head to the side. "A… commission?" There were many things running through her head at that point, most along the lines of _what is happening_ , but she blurted out the first asinine thing to reach the surface. "Don't I need to go to college first?"

"Setting aside glaring issues of official documents and identification, I wouldn't wish the quarter system on my worst enemy. At least student loans wouldn't be an issue… but I digress. I have the authority to perform a field commission. This would put you under the command of an officer I think you know well—"

"Captain Garcia?" Dawn asked excitedly. "He's alright, then? 'Cause I kind of forgot to check in on him and I feel pretty bad about it—"

Lasky held up a hand to forestall further rambling. "He's alright." Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, the admiral made a distinctly un-admiral-like gesture as he massaged his temples. "Being under a official naval jurisdiction will make it significantly harder for ONI to appropriate you as a research asset. Though I do hope to make good use of you in combat, that's really the primary purpose of this maneuver. Despite your unique abilities, I think you've more than shown that you are your own person, and while it's not complete freedom I'm guessing that you'd prefer the chains of naval service to the tighter chains of being a test subject." He spread his hands in a there-you-have-it gesture. "So, how about it? Will you accept?"

Dawn sat quietly for a few moments, looking at the ground. "… I have to say, there's not much of a choice here, sir."

"I'm sorry. But the fact is you've made yourself too valuable to too many people at this point. Your only real choice is whose asset you want to be. I suppose you could always try going rogue and striking out on your own… but I'd imagine that a sufficient number of AP rounds is enough of an argument otherwise?"

"Fair point." Sitting back up, Dawn sighed and shrugged. "Alright, fine. Honestly I think I've been waiting for something like this to happen. I mean, it's not like I'm gonna be doing much different, am I? Shooting aliens, saving the world, might as well get paid for it… I _do_ get paid, right?"

Lasky couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "We'll have to set up a savings account, but yes, you will get paid the standard rate."

Dawn clapped her hands together, consciously ignoring her utter lack of financial literacy. Surely that was one of those things you could learn from a book. "Great! When do I start?"

"Just as soon as we get the paperwork in, so about a day, give or take." Lasky stood up and extended his hand. "Congratulations, ensign. Welcome to the Navy."

The corner of her mouth turned upwards. "Don't think I ever left." She stood as well and shook his hand, then shuffled her feet uncertainly. "Um, if there's nothing else, I think I'd like to go lie down and mumble into a pillow for a few minutes. Sir."

"Well, there's nothing on my end, but I've been talking at you this whole time. It might not be completely appropriate, but is there anything you would like to ask me?"

"Anything I'd like to ask?" _Come to think of it…_ An odd shadow passed over Dawn's face before she frowned. "As a matter of fact, yeah. What's happened to Amber?"

Lasky blinked in confusion at the sudden change in subject. "Amber? I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"You know, my friend? The one you've got _locked up_?"

A slight clanking noise sounded as at least one of the Spartans stepped forward at her suddenly hostile tone. Lasky put a hand out to call them off as he pursed his lips in thought. "I see. You mean the Abyssal, then? I told you before—"

"Admiral. Sir, I know what it looks like, and it looks bad for her. But you have to believe me, Amber is _not_ the threat you think she is. Something weird's going on, and I don't think she was in control of her actions." Dawn leaned forward, tone becoming ever more urgent. "Sir, forget my personal feelings. I think she could be of great use to the UNSC if you just gave her a _chance_. Intel or otherwise, just — I can't say why, but if she falls into ONI's hands, we're all going to regret it."

Lasky tilted his head back at the sudden heat in her words, narrowing his eyes down at her. His lips parted and something, most likely a reprimand, was on the tip of his tongue. Before it could come out, though, the the shrieking of claxons pierced the air.

Dawn nearly fell over backwards. "What the—"

" _General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. Set Condition Red throughout the ship. Standard flow of traffic, repeat, standard flow of traffic. General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations…_ "

Dawn looked around wildly as the Spartans dropped their active camo and leapt forwards. Two of them flanked Lasky while the other two placed themselves next to her, taking hold of her arms firmly but not roughly. Lasky himself appeared to be communicating with someone via neural link, eyes closed and nodding and lips moving in silent pantomime. Dawn could only wince as the blaring alarms assaulted her heightened senses, trying and failing to hear herself think over the shrill sirens before a new announcement interrupted the call to General Quarters.

" _Admiral Lasky to CIC. Repeat, Admiral Lasky to CIC._ "

Lasky looked up, nodded one last time, then turned to Dawn."There's been an incident. I'm afraid we'll have to finish this discussion some other time." He gestured to the Spartans. "Escort her to Hangar Alpha. Roland will give you further orders upon arrival." Flanked by two supersoldiers, Lasky walked briskly for the exit, only pausing to nod farewell. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, ensign. We will talk later."

As he left her sight, Dawn could only murmur, "You as well, sir," before the Spartans began marching her forwards, leaving no room for words at all.

* * *

"All units immediate execute, report combat status and maneuver to rally points."

"All squadrons, scramble, scramble, scramble."

" _Enterprise_ on station, strike wing is fueled and in the tubes, holding position directly behind the main battleline."

"All ODPs reporting Condition Red set, ready for action."

The atmosphere in _Infinity_ 's CIC was remarkably calm and professional, especially considering that the fleet might soon be on the receiving end of a second massive Abyssal offensive in nearly as many days. Despite juggling both the demands of a change of watch and bringing the fleet back to full defensive readiness, the officers juggled both tasks with remarkable aplomb, efficiently briefing their replacements who smoothly slid into vacated stations to seamlessly take over tasks such as coordinating fleet wide flight ops and point defense sectors.

The marine at the door saluted crisply as Lasky half-walked, half-ran into the CIC, Spartan escort having peeled off for their own duties. "Admiral Lasky, sir!"

"At ease, marine." Lasky returned the gesture and made his way towards the central display. The large holotable, the beating heart of the CIC, was already consumed by a whirlwind of information. Readouts and displays came and went like soap bubbles, delivering the torrent of data flowing in from hundreds of ships scrambling to make ready and reposition in response to the sudden alert. The staff somehow made perfect sense of it all, no doubt helped by Roland, who was helping direct efforts from his avatar in the middle of the display and whispering in everyone's headphones at the same time. That avatar turned and saluted as well as Lasky approached.

" _Glad you could join us on such short notice, Admiral. What'll it be today?_ "

"Fleet logistics and deployments, please." As the central display split in two, one half showing unit locations throughout the system and the other supply and readiness levels, Lasky continued. "Roland, sitrep. Give me a timeline."

" _Yes, sir._ " Roland nodded, for once completely serious. " _The time is 1358 hours. At 1351 plus 10, RSO_ Euler _registered an incoming unscheduled slipspace wavefront. At 1351 plus 23, RSO_ Fermion _confirmed the detection and pegged the mass at at least a carrier battlegroup equivalent. The alert went out on all channels at 1351 plus 42. We're working on triangulating the exit coordinates now, but it looks to be in the vicinity of the superior jump point. I've ordered all units not in Reach orbit to get their butts back here, on the double, and also mobilized all civilian shipping and orbital facilities for evacuation duties._ "

Lasky pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a long breath. "Okay, that's good. As soon as we have those coordinates, transmit them to the carriers so they can jump their bombers in. We're in no shape for another slugfest, we've got to hit them before they can get their jump jammers up. Oh, and pass the order for all ships to run stress tests on their equipment. If our gear is going to fail, I want it to fail now and not in the middle of battle _._ "

" _Yes sir._ "

He gave supply levels a final once-over and nodded. "Ammunition and fuel are lower than I'd like, but serviceable. Battlesphere display." The display shifted to show a simplified representation of the entire Epsilon Eridani system. Lasky zoomed in on Reach, magnified the space elevators and marked them, saying, "I also want at least two cruiser divisions and two destroyer divisions guarding each evacuation site. We're not getting flanked like last time."

" _I'll pass that on. Orbital patrols on high alert._ "

"Ah, is that so? Thank you." Nodding, an officer stood from his station and called out, "Admiral Lasky, all spaceports and tethers report ready to commence civilian evacuations. Should I give the order?"

"Negative." At Roland's surprised look, Lasky elaborated. "We haven't finished recalling commercial shipping, and I'm already diverting all the ships with significant carrying capacity from the battleline that I can afford to. If I give the order now, I'll be subjecting the security forces to a panicked crowd of civilians with nowhere to go. They've got enough on their plates. Once those ships are formed up, though, it's green light."

The officer nodded in response and typed something on his console. "Understood sir, no go until transports are ready."

Across the room, another officer let out a short grunt of exasperation and raised her hand, eyes focused on her console. "Admiral, all units are proceeding with equipment tests. Updating results now… it, uh, it isn't pretty, sir."

Red light flashed on the display as cruiser _Foreign Shores_ suffered a breakdown in her main battery power supply. This was quickly followed by battleship _Helios_ and cruisers _George S. Patton_ and _A Moment's Rest_ losing most of their propulsion in quick succession, then all of DesDiv 4 reporting through lasercom that their superluminal communications were inoperable. Roland could only offer an apologetic grimace as reports of other equipment problems, minor and major, trickled in though the battlenet. " _We haven't had near enough time to repair all of the battle damage. Just be thankful nobody has expl—_ "

"Don't! Just, just don't finish that thought." Lasky waited with bated breath, but it fortunately appeared Roland hadn't jinxed them. Unfortunately, within five minutes, over twenty ships had been rendered combat ineffective by various equipment failures, failures that could easily have been prevented by a day in the shipyards but there just hadn't been enough time or space. Better it happen during testing than combat, but still. "Goddamn. Alright. Are we done?"

" _Ideally._ "

"And we live in an ideal universe, don't we? All units experiencing equipment failure will withdraw at maximum speed and get fixed ASAP. We can manage for a while, but eventually we'll need every ship on the line." His neck was beginning to feel tight from bending over. Taking a moment to twist from side to side to stretch it out, Lasky caught another officer taking worried glances at the battlesphere visualization hovering over the table. "Is everything alright, lieutenant? If you have concerns, I'm giving you permission to speak."

Startled, the lieutenant looked around like a student not expecting to be called on in class. "M-my apologies, admiral, but I was thinking… well, standard procedure is to call for reinforcements around this time, but the Abbies took out our interstellar beacons. If _Cormorant_ made it to Earth, then they won't be sending a back up fleet… I know it's out of line, but I was wondering if we have enough forces present to hold the line. We only barely managed last time, and that was because… well…"

It _was_ out of line, but it was also an elephant in the room Lasky needed to address eventually — were they on their own? Better now than later. "With any luck, even if HIGHCOM doesn't dispatch a full fleet, they'll at least send a battlegroup to check in on us. After all, even if we beat off the first attack, we _were_ still attacked, and Sydney hasn't received a full after-action report yet. They'll want to see with their own eyes… if only to chew me out." The atmosphere smothered his attempt at humor. The lieutenant didn't look completely convinced, but it was enough to make him turn his eyes down towards his own console. However, his words made Lasky remember something, an asset he hadn't considered and an ace up his sleeve he'd forgotten he could play. "Roland, are you still in contact with Forward Unto Dawn?"

" _Is my fragment still living rent-free in her head, you mean? Yes._ "

"Where is she right now?"

" _As you asked, I'm directing her towards Captain Garcia and keeping them both out of the way. Why?_ "

"Belay that order. Get Dawn down to the nearest launch bay and Garcia up here. I want her on the battleline."

" _I feel I have to ask, sir, are we just completely trusting that she's on our side now? And I thought the whole point was to have Garcia as a babysitter,_ not _anywhere important?_ "

"I don't think we have a choice in the matter, not if this attack is anywhere near the size of the last one. And so long as he's going to be in charge of Dawn, he'd better know how she fights in a fleet setting." Lasky paused and grimaced. "Not to mention that's it's just goddamn rude of me to assign him a command and then yank it away without at least cluing him into what's going on." Roland's expression remained troubled, but he conceded with a respectful nod and said no more. "Attach Forward Unto Dawn to Battleship Division Two, and swap it with BattDiv One in the center. Move One to anchor the left flank, it's looking a little shaky."

" _Done. Hopefully we have more than a one-shot-wonder on our hands._ "

 _"_ Admiral, _Fermion_ has rupture coordinates!" All eyes in the CIC swiveled towards one of the sensor officers. "Time is 1410 plus 57. Coming through now, sir. Coordinates are… 1.6, 0.01, 30, standard system reference axis, error margin negligible in all dimensions. Estimate exit time at 1424 plus minus one minute. It's right on top of the IJP, sir."

"RSO _Euler_ confirms."

"RSO _Bohr_ confirms, adds refined mass estimate as carrier battlegroup plus cruiser battlegroup."

" _Fermion_ and _Euler_ agree with _Bohr._ "

The display updated with the new information, a bright red region representing the likely exit point of the incoming mass. Other areas appeared, representing firing arcs, maneuver cones, and likely vectors of approach. Lasky paid special attention to the regions representing ODP availability, running mental geometry to figure out how many of the powerful guns could fire on the approaching ships.

Roland made his job easy. " _Manassass, Quezon, and Debrecen clusters are in firing arc. New Alexandria will be available in one hour, fifteen minutes._ " He continued before Lasky could even ask his next question. " _I have CruDiv 2 and DesDiv 11 at one hundred twenty three thousand kilometers, DesDiv 24 coming along at one fifty five, and your lucky numbers today are 7, 29, 55._ "

Despite himself, Lasky cracked a smile at just how well Roland knew him… or was he just getting that predictable with age? "Vector them for intercept. Have them stand off at ten thousand klicks with torpedoes ready, prepare to scatter mines in a saturation pattern and run if the situation becomes untenable. Roland, relay rupture coordinates to _Enterprise_ and have her pre-charge micro jumps, target on those coordinates, and start coordinating a battle line pivot to face the rupture, formation Uniform-India-One." Lasky switched channels to _Infinity_ 's internal command net and patched through to the bridge. "Captain Shen, do you read me? What's _Infinity_ 's status?"

" _All departments report ready for action, sir. Bridge is standing by for orders._ "

"Understood. The fleet is adopting formation Uniform-India-One, bring _Infinity_ to formation position one-alpha."

" _Understood. We will_ The CIC door slid open as he spoke, admitting one disheveled Captain Douglas Garcia. "Ah, Captain. Sorry for the short notice, I wasn't expecting to be seeing you again so soon either."

"I-It's no p-problem, sir," Garcia replied, saluting while his shoulders heaved with rapid breaths. "A-apologies for my… appearance."

Lasky turned, returned the salute, eyed his posture, and shot him an odd look. "Did you _run_ here?"

"From the tram station… should have flagged down a trolley… but I didn't want to be a bother."

"In the future, do be a bother. Are you aware of what's happening?"

"Vaguely, sir." Recovered, Garcia moved closer so they weren't speaking across the room. "I gathered we're under attack."

"By what appears to be at least a heavy probing force, yes. Based on our mass estimates, I doubt this is a Regret, but a deliberate attack. Our regular forces could deal with that alone, but I've deployed Forward Unto Dawn into the battleline in anticipation of more to come." Lasky gestured to draw Garcia's eyes to the display, where a new friendly dot had suddenly appeared within the UNSC line. "You're here to better observe her capabilities. We need to know how she fights in a proper fleet action, but that goes double for you as her commander." Garcia nodded, determined, then sent a slightly less certain look at the display table.

"Er… is it okay for me to stand here, sir? Should I find a seat or something?"

Lasky quelled an urge to roll his eyes. "It's a table, not a holy shrine. So long as your security clearances are up to date?"

"Of course. I always make sure to file the paperwork every six months."

"Good for you. The _one_ time the forms go through late…" Repressing rising memories of the ninth circle of administrative hell, Lasky spun the display for a better perspective on fleet maneuvers. "Roland, please explain the current plan for Captain Garcia."

" _My pleasure, sir. Sit down children, class is in session_." Red lines representing projected future courses criss-crossed the 3D space as Roland's disembodied voice spoke. " _We're rotating to face the enemy, armor front and center and mobile units swinging around the flanks. As soon as all units form up, the main line will accelerate with the intention of giving close battle. If the Abyssals focus on the harassing mobile units, the charge will smash straight through their line. If they focus on the main force, the destroyers, frigates, and light cruisers will have free reign to whittle them down for us. And if they split their attentions, that works just as well. Study pages 81 through 102 and be ready for the exam on Tuesday._ "

"For the record, there is no exam," Lasky said, turning back to Garcia as the red lines faded away. _"_ Your thoughts?"

Engrossed in the display, Garcia failed to respond until Lasky loudly cleared his throat. "M-my thoughts, sir? Is it appropriate for me to be giving advice?"

"More appropriate than any old butterbar with a tactics manual and a sketchpad, at any rate. I'd also like to see that my trust is justified by at least a hint of tactical acumen. Now, thoughts."

"Ahem." Garcia coughed, straightened his uniform, and squared his shoulders. "I can't help but feel that Forward Unto Dawn would be of more use deployed with the mobile force, on the flanks. Based on available combat data, which admittedly isn't much more than a roll of film and some liberal imagination, her firepower operates at roughly a heavy cruiser level of effectiveness while maintaining a corvette's levels of maneuverability. Therefore, the firepower increase granted by adding her to, say, a destroyer division would be proportionally much greater than if she were to operate in a mainline battleship division, and would also allow her to flex her maneuverability advantage. Additionally, the threat she presents could lead the Abyssals to focus their attacks on her, granting the rest of our forces room to operate and acting as more of a force multiplier than she could be when anchored in line."

"Hmm…" Lasky tapped a finger against the table, sending a jolt of doubt through Garcia. "It's a risky move. The mobile forces operate beyond the effective range of the main battleline, so there's no covering them if things go sour, and believe me they will… but at the same time, every minute a battle drags on is also dangerous, isn't it? We have a weapon now, we shouldn't be scared to use it. You have a point. Roland, send to CruDiv 5, immediate execute, detach for independent flank maneuvers. Attach Forward Unto Dawn to them and move CruDiv 8 to fill their spot."

Roland rendered a rigid salute. " _Roger roger, transmitting now. CruDiv 5 repositioning to the flanks._ "

"Thank you. ETA on that wavefront?"

" _ETA five minutes to rupture. Projected time to position for all friendly forces is eight minutes._ "

Garcia cursed softly. "Damn. Abbies will have an early positional advantage. There'll be a few minutes before we're ready to attack."

" _As long as_ Enterprise _doesn't drop the ball, her bombers should buy enough time to even the playing field._ "

"Let's hope they do." Lasky glanced at Garcia. "And let's hope that our ace can close whatever gap's left after that."

Part of a commanding officer's duty was to express public confidence in their subordinates, no matter what they really felt, but Garcia could almost believe himself when he nodded and said, "I know she can." A small, tired, but genuine smile was his only reply.

The minutes passed like molasses. Officers gave constant status updates, the tiniest bit of tension leaking into their voices. The mobile detachments continued to accelerate into position, Dawn's icon blinking steadily in their midst. Fighters swarmed around their motherships while more sat waiting in launch tubes, waiting to replace losses and reinforce their comrades. The fire control systems continued to run hypotheticals, refining firing solutions for any formation the enemy could appear in. Transport ships gathered around the space elevators, poised whisk the gathering civilian population to safety under the watchful eyes and guns of cruisers and destroyers. More ODPs came into the firing arc, ready to pour Super MAC fire into any Abyssal ship that dared poke its bow into Epsilon Eridani's light. As a last few ships maneuvered into position, the fleet was the definition of readiness, and Lasky knew that, but the wait was still agony. He almost wished he was in one of the Rapiers doing corkscrews around _Infinity_ , just so he could physically control something… but his place was here, no matter how much his hands itched to wrap around a control stick, an assault rifle, anything. A glance to his side told him that Garcia felt much the same way, a bouncing foot giving away his agitation as his eyes stayed glue to Dawn's icon. His eyes flicked up to the clock. 1424 hours… any moment now.

"Radiation, radiation, slipspace ruptures detected."

"Ruptures detected, ruptures confirmed."

"Acquiring location, acquired, 1.6, 0.01, 30, standard system reference axis."

"Coordinates confirmed, ruptures confirmed at superior jump point."

Lasky shot bolt upright as the main display flashed red. "All units, finalize positions and prepare to attack. Confirm their identity and force composition, but assume hostile contact profile!"

Roland nodded and disappeared, but his disembodied voice remained. " _Understood! All units, prepare to engage the enemy._ "

"Here we go," Garcia muttered, but sounded hesitant. "Such a small force… what are the Abbies thinking?"

"Cherenkov radiation, entity transition registered!"

"Confirm multiple high-mass contacts!"

"All units, come to battle—"

A signals officer threw out his arm with a wordless shout. "Wait! Signals received! Multiple units report receiving signals from the contacts!"

"Cancel previous orders, repeat, cancel previous orders! Stand by to engage, but do not engage until I order so." Lasky gestured dramatically at the signals officer, unable to avoid being caught up in the moment. "Confirm identities immediately!"

"Understood. Verifying signals now… signals match transponder patterns! Repeat, receiving transponder signals!"

Another officer joined in. "Transponders received. Identifying — UNSC transponders. Repeat, UNSC transponders received. Verifying composition: one carrier division, two cruiser divisions, four destroyer divisions. Flagship is UNSC _Implacable_."

"Transponder patterns verified, IFF codes verified."

"Analyzing emission profiles… emission profiles confirmed, UNSC match, repeat, contact emissions match UNSC profiles."

"Multiple units in agreement!"

"Visual confirmation in progress… confirmed." An audible sigh rose around the CIC. "UNSC forces confirmed, repeat, UNSC forces confirmed." The display updated in a rush, blotchy red turning into cool blue as the UNSC eagle spread its wings above the newly identified friendly warships, accelerating away from the superior jump point and blasting identification codes on all channels.

"Thank God." Lasky allowed himself a deep breath out. The way Garcia's hands maintained a white-knuckle grip on the display table as he muttered a small prayer of thanks did not escape his notice. "All units, stand down from Condition Red, repeat, stand down from Condition Red. Do not, repeat, do not engage, but remain at action stations." To the comms officer: "Get me a channel with _Implacable—_ "

Roland cleared his throat. " _Comm request from_ Implacable _, for_ Infinity _, sir. Shall I open a channel?_ "

"Beat me to it, did they?" Lasky nodded wearily. "Send it through. Patch it to the CIC speakers."

" _Understood. You're on live._ "

The speakers recessed above the display crackled as a signal came through, wavering as the superluminal connection established itself, then steadying into a slightly tinny voice accompanied by a hologram of a man in an officer's uniform, tension written in every line of his body. " _This is Rear Admiral Brandon Voigt_ _to Epsilon Eridani Command. Please respond, over._ "

"Voigt?" Lasky muttered under his breath, then cleared his voice and fixed his collar. "This is Admiral Thomas Lasky. Admiral Voigt, not that it's not a pleasure to see you, but what are you doing here?"

" _Admiral Lasky…?_ " Voigt closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, shoulders shagging as tension fled his posture. " _Sir. I…apologies for the short notice. I see everything's under control in the system, then?_ " He looked to the side and did a double take. " _Our sensors register massive amounts of debris and battle damage. Were you attacked?_ "

Lasky arched an eyebrow. "Yes? And you've missed all the fun, I might add." A hint of crossness slipped into his voice. "We're all on edge, if you can't tell, so a little advance warning would have been appreciated."

Voigt blanched at his tone. " _M-my apologies, sir, once again. I'm sorry we didn't come any sooner._ "

Lasky held an icy glare for a moment longer before letting the poor man go with a sigh. "The blood is long dry. The important thing is we managed to fight the Abyssals off for one more day," he said, leaving out _how_ exactly that had happened. The entire system might know about Forward Unto Dawn by now, but there was no reason to freely let that information go much further than that at present. "It would have been nice if our call for reinforcements was responded to, but I understand everyone has their own orders."

" _Your… call for reinforcements?_ " Voigt muttered to himself, then looked startled as he realized he'd spoken aloud. " _Ah, pardon me, sir. It's only that… well, we haven't received any communications from Reach in three days. At first we thought it was merely a technical error, but when the silence continued… and we couldn't form a connection… As of yesterday, COM net has gone insane with worry. That's why we came._ " Voigt sighed and shook his head. " _Well, that's blood on all of our hands. Again, my sincere apologies for the scare. I see your interstellar beacons are intact; comm troubles, then? I'll relay the message that Reach is okay, but in the meantime, do you require any assistance or reinforcement? We'll spare all the forces we can—_ "

Lasky held up a hand and leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Not so fast. What do you mean you haven't received any comms in three days? We sent out a signal for reinforcements at the start of the battle, three days ago."

" _You did. You did? But we… beg your pardon, sir._ " Voigt turned to the side and spoke to someone offscreen. " _Lambert_ _, double check our comm logs for any messages from Reach within the past three days. Did we miss_ anything?"

A gravelly voice answered from offscreen. " _Negative, sir. No communications from Epsilon Eridani Command were logged within the past three days. Last communication occurred three and a half days ago, a routine status ping. Would you like a playback?_ "

"Negative," Lasky called out, "check for communications from HIGHCOM or FLEETCOM, please."

Voigt glanced to the side. " _Do it, Lambert._ "

" _Understood, Admirals. Checking… the last communication from High Command occurred two days ago, an inquiry into our contact status with Epsilon Eridani Command. No further transmissions have been received from any unit or station within High Command, Fleet Command, or the Solar System._ "

The air in the CIC grew cold, beyond even the climate control's efforts. "And… how many routine transmissions were due in that period?"

" _Over that period, protocol dictates the automated transmission of six standard status inquiries from all central network nodes, and two standard status inquiries from all other nodes. We received none. All other active nodes transmitted as expected during that time._ "

"Six missed communications." Lasky leaned back as the implication hit the CIC like a tidal wave. "No communications from Earth or Reach…"

Garcia wore a look of dawning horror on his face. "There is massive redundancy built into the Solar System's comms. Only the heat death of the universe would cause every transmitter to go out. Or… whatever happened to us, it seems. Since the universe still exists, that means… Earth…" Garcia made eye contact with Lasky and saw the same horror reflected in the admiral's eyes. "Earth could be…"

"Quite so. We'll have to catch up some other time, Admiral Voigt." Lasky was already switching the display to a fleet logistics readout. "As soon as you're back in range of your own beacons, transmit the following message to all sectors for me: Requesting all available forces make immediate course for the Solar System and assemble in Saturn orbit. Prepare for heavy naval and ground combat with Abyssal forces. Roland!"

" _Yes, Admiral?_ "

"Get our top twenty five percent most combat-ready units resupplied and refueled, and pull the 8th and 17th Mechanized from the surface. We need to get to the Solar System as fast as possible."

" _Consider it done, sir. Give me a few hours._ " As Roland disappeared, Lasky turned back to see Voigt's hologram still there, an utterly confused look on his face.

"Admiral, I need your forces to remain here for the time being. As the most senior officer in this system, I'm giving you temporary command of the Epsilon Eridani defense forces. I need someone to watch over the system while I'm in the Solar System."

" _I-certainly, sir, but… I'm afraid I'm a bit frazzled over here. Why?_ "

"It all adds up." Lasky turned his eyes towards where fuel level readouts were spilling out across the display. "Why haven't our couriers returned? Why has there been no investigation or relief fleet sent? Why hasn't HIGHCOM contacted you or anyone else in two days? And why does your description of their circumstances match up with ours?" He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath.

"Earth is under attack."


	7. Codex - UNSC Warships

_At some place and some time…_

In tomorrow's uniform and ready for bed, a cup of chamomile tea on her desk and a detective novel in hand, Dawn jumped as Verdant's voice echoed out of nowhere. " _Seeing as how you've been out of action for the better part of a generation, the Admiral thinks that you should catch yourself up on current equipment and doctrine._ "

"Wait wha-" was all Dawn could get out before a stack of books fell on her head. Well, more accurately, several gigabytes of data forcibly downloaded themselves into her memory banks, but the sensation was much the same as her knees buckled and she sat down heavily on her bunk. "That hurt! Fucking rude!"

" _You'll thank me later. There's headache pills in the drawer and the tap water is drinkable. Oh, you have tea! I hear it activates the medication better._ " Verdant's abstract green avatar rippled in a gesture Dawn had learned was supposed to be a farewell. " _I'd recommend the warships section first. Ta-ta!_ "

"You can be a real piece of work sometimes, you know that?" Rubbing her temples, Dawn set her book aside, begrudgingly manifested a datapad, located the ibuprofen, and opened her newly downloaded files to the warships section. "But she's right. I don't recognize half of these ships. Better get learned while theres time. Lets see… let's start right here…"

* * *

Ships — Warships — UNSC

Corvette — BLACKBIRD-class (Series: BLACKBIRD, VIPER, SHARK, WASP)

Length: 210 meters

Width: 75 meters

Height: 70 meters

Mass: 32.000 metric tons

Crew: 50-75

Main Propulsion: 2 x SinoViet/Boglin Mk II SL-5D

Armor Protection: 30 cm Composition-A4 plating, 6 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 4 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 4 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 3 x Mk 2563/Mod V QR/AO Torpedo Launch System

Missile Armament: 10 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 14 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 4 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 4 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 6 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 14 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 2 x D 80-TC Pelican, 15 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example members: UNSC _Blackbird_ , UNSC _Asp_ , UNSC _Hammerhead_ , UNSC _Yellow Jacket_

Note: _Blackbird_ -class corvettes are not a ground-up unique design, but rather militarized versions of a common civilian and naval utility craft. The original pattern is designed to be skeletal and to accept upgrades and mission modules as needed. The _Blackbird_ -class and associated series are equipped with modules designed for patrol, reconnaissance, and light skirmishing duties. _Blackbird_ -class corvettes possess the highest thrust-mass ratio of all UNSC ships, and their outsize torpedo armament allows them to punch much higher than their weight class.

* * *

Frigate — SWORD-class (Series: SWORD, TOWN, STORM, GHOST)

Length: 515 meters

Width: 130 meters

Height: 160 meters

Mass: 1.5 million metric tons

Crew: 200-260

Main Propulsion: 3 x SinoViet/Boglin Mk II SL-5D

Armor Protection: 50 cm Composition-A4 belt, 12 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 1 x 1 Series 8 Mk 6 Mod III, Light Coil, QF - 55618E MAC, 5 x Mk 2563/Mod V QR/AO Torpedo Launch System

Secondary Armament: 4 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 4 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 50 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 28 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 4 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 4 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 28 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 20 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 28 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 6 x F 49-AS Rapier, 4 x D 80-TC Pelican, 50 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Excalibur_ , UNSC _San Francisco_ , UNSC _Hurricane_ , UNSC _Spectre_

Note: Despite attempts to integrate the roles of frigates and destroyers, compromises between swift, heavily armed, independent raiders equally capable of taking the frontline or flanking the enemy (destroyers) and cheap, rapidly manufactured multipurpose fleet and ground support vessels (frigates) have generally been unsatisfactory. Thus, the _Excalibur_ -class exists as a development of _Strident_ -class frigates, cheaper, more heavily armed, and more maneuverable at the expense of a great deal of endurance and protection.

Note: In a waterless environment, the distinction between torpedoes and missiles is hazy at best, and many believe that torpedoes should be classified as superheavy missiles. The current convention is that a torpedo is a large, self-propelling, guided weapon which approaches under stealth and only accelerates when within ten thousand kilometers of its target, as opposed to a missile which typically sustains acceleration throughout its entire approach. In addition, torpedoes are large enough be fired from MACs in emergencies, though tubes are generally preferred to keep tactical options open. Each Mk 2563/Mod V Quick-Reload Adaptable-Ordnance Torpedo Launch System can store up to seven torpedoes ready for firing at a time.

* * *

Destroyer — CONSTELLATION-class (Series: CONSTELLATION, BATTLE, RAVAGER)

Length: 738 meters

Width: 210 meters

Height: 270 meters

Mass: 2.4 million metric tons

Crew: 370-430

Main Propulsion: 4 x SinoViet/Boglin Mk II SL-5D

Armor Protection: 1.1 m Composition-A4 belt, 20 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 2 x 1 Series 8 Mk 6 Mod III, Light Coil, QF - 55618E MAC, 3 x Mk 2563/Mod V QR/AO Torpedo Launch System

Secondary Armament: 8 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 7 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 75 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 40 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 8 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 7 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 40 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 25 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 40 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 4 x F 49-AS Rapier, 2 x D 80-TC Pelican, 40 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Auriga_ , UNSC _Stalingrad,_ UNSC _Corsair,_ UNSC _Marauder_

Note: _Constellation_ -class destroyers can be modified with stealth packages thanks to their sleek, heavily sloped, and faceted hulls, inspired by the lines of _Halberd_ -class destroyers. They are favored by UNSC Special Forces who anticipate a need for heavy firepower that Prowlers and corvettes cannot supply, but cannot rely on more experimental stealth vessels.

Refit Note: An emergency refit was ordered in the opening years of the Abyssal War due to reports that Series 8 Light Coil MACs were ineffective against Abyssal defenses. This lead to the addition of three torpedo launchers to the _Constellation_ -class' main armament, as well as the development of MAC rounds with more efficient energy transfer characteristics which enabled a greater percentage of the round's kinetic energy to be delivered against enemy defenses, increasing power without necessitating complete rebuilds of main batteries.

* * *

Cruiser — Light — NELSON-Class (Series: NELSON, HERACLES)

Length: 1000 meters

Width: 290 meters

Height: 370 meters

Mass: 8.2 million metric tons

Crew: 370-430

Main Propulsion: 4 x SinoViet/Boglin Mk VI SL-10HF

Protection: 2.0 m Composition-A4 belt, 30 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 2 x 1 Mk IX/B, Heavy Coil, RC/QF - 66913B MAC, 2 x Mk 2563/Mod V QR/AO Torpedo Launch System

Secondary Armament: 10 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 10 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 130 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 80 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 10 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 10 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 80 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 40 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 80 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 6 x F 49-AS Rapier, 2 x D 80-TC Pelican, 50 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Zhu Ge Liang_ , UNSC _Hannibal Barca_ , UNSC _Achilles_ , UNSC _Cu Chulainn_

Note: _Nelson_ -class light cruisers were the first design to integrate expendable missile pods and energy weaponry with kinetic point defenses. This comprehensive point defense strategy, adopted in varying forms on all UNSC warships, is more effective at long ranges and at disrupting directed-energy weapons such as plasma torpedoes than traditional kinetic defenses, and in some cases has been used to actively mitigate the impact of energy projector-type ordnance.

* * *

Cruiser — Heavy — AUTUMN-Class (Series: AUTUMN, DAYBREAK, PIONEER)

Length: 1430 meters

Width: 380 meters

Height: 431 meters

Mass: 11.0 million metric tons

Crew: 700-900

Main Propulsion: 4 x SinoViet/Boglin Mk VI SL-10HF

Armor Protection: 3.2 m Composition-A4 belt, 45 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 2 x 1 Mk IX/B, Heavy Coil, RC/QF - 66913B MAC, 1 x Lethbridge Mk III MF/G, QF E100-C Energy Projector

Secondary Armament: 14 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 14 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 260 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 160 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 14 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 14 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 160 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 80 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 160 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 15 x F 49-AS Rapier, 12 x D 80-TC Pelican, 120 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Hope Springs Eternal_ , UNSC _Thy Will Be Done_ , UNSC _Farewell at Twilight,_ UNSC _First Through the Breach_

Note: Honeycombing, extreme compartmentalization, and overlapping shield sectors give the _Autumn-_ class its reputation for deceptive durability, hard-won in close quarters fleet actions. Designed around the principle that no armor short of molecularly reinforced and field-strengthened battleship plating can consistently deflect modern capital ordnance, the _Autumn_ instead focuses on compartmentalizing the effects of inevitable kinetic and energy penetrations while maintaining sufficient passive protection against lighter, lower energy, and missile weaponry. Despite its age, the _Autumn_ -class still plays a vital role in the fleet and is one of the most manufactured classes in human history.

Refit Note: Highly increased automation, implemented in the latter series of the class and retroactively fitted to the original, enabled a decrease in crew complement despite an increase in capabilities. The saved space was given over to increased point-defense and aerospace handling facilities, as well as additional internal bracing, enhancing the _Autumn_ -class' fleet-support role and survivability while keeping its main armaments up to par.

* * *

Battleship — PANTHEON-Class (Series: PANTHEON)

Length: 3300 meters

Width: 600 meters

Height: 760 meters

Mass: 52 million metric tons

Crew: 4000-5200

Main Propulsion: 5 x Boglin X/Naoto C813-Mk X/III-SL

Armor Protection: 7.2 meter Composition-A4 belt, 1.5 m Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 4 x Series 10 Mk 4, Superheavy Coil, RC-OC/QF 68112-A MAC, 2 x Lethbridge Mk III MF/G, QF E100-C Energy Projector

Secondary Armament: 35 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 35 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 800 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 400 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 35 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 35 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 400 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 200 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 400 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 50 x F 49-AS Rapier, 9 x D 80-TC Pelican, 350 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Zeus_ , UNSC _Odin_ , UNSC _Horus,_ UNSC _Shiva_

Note: The immensely thick, molecularly reinforced and field-resonant armor, and powerful shielding of the _Pantheon-_ class makes them the lightest UNSC warships capable of withstanding multiple strikes from a modernized _Glory_ -class supercarrier's main energy projectors. The hard lessons of the Covenant War have resulted in deliberately over-engineered systems redundancy, multiple independent automated pathways, and complex internal bracing and compartmentalization, ensuring survival and function of vital systems even in the face of near complete structural failure and crew loss.

Note: _Pantheon_ -class battleships are capable of recovering recoil energy from salvos to accelerate the reload of the next salvo, or of firing rounds one at a time in order to use recoil energy to overcharge the next round. Several treaties and UEG law forbid the use of overcharged rounds in planetary bombardment.

* * *

Carrier — Assault — DAUNTLESS-class (Series: DAUNTLESS, INVINCIBLE)

Length: 3000 meters

Width: 640 meters

Height: 690 meters

Mass: 41 million metric tons

Crew: 4000-8400

Main Propulsion: 4 x Boglin X/Naoto C813-Mk X/III-SL

Armor Protection: 3.0 meter Composition-A4 ablative belt (7.5 meter ventral), 80 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 2 x Series 10 Mk 4, Superheavy Coil, RC-OC/QF 68112-A MAC, 1 x Lethbridge Mk III MF/G, QF E100-C Energy Projector

Secondary Armament: 30 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 30 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 480 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 250 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 30 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 30 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 250 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 200 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 250 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 350 x F 49-S Rapier, 150 x S 10-A Claymore, 100 x D 80-TC Pelican, 3000 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Daring_ , UNSC _Audacious_ UNSC _Indomitable_ , UNSC _Implacable_

Note: _Dauntless-_ class assault carriers are the largest UNSC warships capable of in-atmosphere operations and are designed to provide long-duration close support to ground forces. They have reinforced ventral armor belts and shields, and a majority of their secondary armaments are biased towards a ventral firing arc and contained in more heavily armored mounts. A _Dauntless-_ class' presence over a battlefield provides a nearly invincible obstacle to enemy ground deployment and air power, as well as a base of supply and an artillery platform.

* * *

Carrier — Fleet — ENTERPRISE-class (Series: ENTERPRISE)

Length: 4600 meters

Width: 720 meters

Height: 750 meters

Mass: 96 million metric tons

Crew: 5600-8500

Main Propulsion: 5 x Boglin X/Naoto C813-Mk X/III-SL

Armor Protection: 3.1 meter Composition-A4 ablative belt, 65 cm Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 2 x Series 10 Mk 4, Superheavy Coil, RC-OC/QF 68112-A MAC, 2 x Lethbridge Mk III MF/G, QF E100-C Energy Projector

Secondary Armament: 20 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 20 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 600 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 400 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 20 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 20 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 400 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 250 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 400 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 800 x F 49-AS Rapier, 700 x S 10-A Claymore, 8500 x F990-UASV Sentinel

Example Members: UNSC _Enterprise_ , UNSC _Constitution_ , UNSC _Dreadnought_ , UNSC _Victory_

Note: The advanced Forerunner-derived slip space drives mounted on _Enterprise_ -class carriers are equally capable of generating standard portals for ship transition or numerous micro ruptures to facilitate aerospace strikes. Alternating launch and recovery decks allow for constant, near simultaneous deployment, recovery, and servicing of an enormous aerospace complement, while its 'tuning fork' shape preserves the structural integrity and protection of mission critical components. This class is also fitted with automated facilities to service up to two cruiser-size vessels at once, providing redundancy for dedicated mobile refit facilities.

Note: Rapier aerospace superiority fighters and Claymore bombers come standard-kitted with a drone operations suite capable of coordinating up to five F990 unmanned aerospace superiority vehicles with ease. In essence, this allows each fighter or bomber to become its own squadron, each manned craft supporting and supported by a swarm of robotic strike fighters. F990 UASVs also carry advanced network software and superluminal communications equipment which allows the formation of massive gestalt combat intelligences capable of coordinating fleet-wide aerospace operations in conjunction with human pilots and flight control personnel, enhancing tactical capabilities far in excess of what a simple arithmetic progression would allow.

* * *

Carrier — Super — INFINITY-class

Length: 5700 meters

Width: 833.3 meters

Height: 1041.2 meters

Mass: 971 million metric tons

Crew: 10500-13600

Main Propulsion: 3 x XR2 Boglin Fields: S81/X-DFR

Armor Protection: 6.7 meter Composition-A4 ablative belt, 1.0 m Composition-A4 structural plate

Main Armament: 4 x CR-03C Series 10 Mk 4, Superheavy Coil, RC-OC/QF 68112-A MAC, 3 x Lethbridge Mk III MF/G, QF E100-C Energy Projector

Secondary Armament: 45 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 40 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance

Missile Armament: 1300 x 40 M96 Mk III RGM Howler, 850 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Point Defense Armament: 45 x 2 Mk 2564/25 cm QF Coilgun, 40 x Mk 2567 QF Plasma Lance, 850 x 2 Mk 57/III Arena Point Defense Gun, 400 x Mk 13/II Firefly Pulse Laser Array, 850 x 40 M73 Mk IV RPM Dart

Aerospace Complement: 400 x F 49-AS Rapier, 250 x S 10-A Claymore, 3000 x F990-UASV Sentinel, 200 x D 80-TC Pelican

Independent Fleet Complement: 16 x Corvette or 8 x Frigate

Example Members: UNSC _Infinity_ , UNSC _Eternity_ , UNSC _Light of Sol_

Note: The _Infinity_ -class' secondary armament may seem deceptively light for a vessel of its size, with only 130 barrels in its long range secondary suite. However, like all other UNSC vessels, the point defense armament may be easily repurposed as supplementary secondary armaments. Though point defense guns, pulse lasers, and micromissiles are ineffective against capital ships, the sheer volume of fire they output can gouge away at armor plating and rip through exposed modules like sensors and opposing point defense suites. The exact data are classified, but sustained fire by current point defense shells is known to penetrate the improvised armor plating commonly seen on Insurrectionist warships.

Note: _Infinity_ -class vessels are classified as strategic assets, on the level of fleets, rather than tactical assets on the level of other warships, reflecting the immense levels of firepower and survivability they wield — nearly equal to that of a small fleet. While this emphasizes their importance, expense, and prevents haphazard deployment, it does tend to limit their ability to flex their unquestionable power where it is most needed. In general, they act as anchor points for entire sector offensive and defensive operations, locking down vital systems and strategic points as forces are built up. Controversy surrounding their designation continues. Their deployments are typically public knowledge, as a means of morale boosting. _Infinity_ is currently deployed to the Inner Colony Front, _Eternity_ is deployed to the Outer Colony Front, and _Light of Sol_ is deployed to the Imperial Front.


	8. Chapter 7

"All in all, could be worse."

"That's true."

"Could be better, though."

"That's also true."

Hushed whispers accompanied the faint whirring of fans on the bridge of the UNSC _Egret_. Lieutenant Commander Dimitri Pavchenko tugged at his collar, sweat rolling down his face from the slowly building heat that the corvette was unable to vent, not without giving away its hiding place in the debris fields orbiting Mars. _Egret_ roughly occupied the space formerly known as _New Harmony Station_ , now a slowly spreading cloud of wreckage in geosynchronous orbit over the eponymous city.

In the outer reaches of humanity's home, UNSC destroyer and corvette squadrons engaged Abyssal heavy cruiser and carrier divisions in brutal knife-fights among the back alleys of Saturns' rings and Jupiter's moons. Human warships cuddled up to innocuous rocks and slipped into the very atmospheres of the grand gas giants, feigning death as formations of Abyssal ships and fighters drew close. They then came roaring out, propulsion blazing, at just the right vectors so that the aliens barely had time to turn their sensors, let alone their weapons around before torpedoes, nuclear missiles, plasma warheads and kinetic slugs sent them falling into the fiery embrace of Jupiter's gravity or added their wreckage to the jewels adorning Saturn's crown. The Abyssals took their pound of flesh in return, using a combination of superior sensor suites, jamming equipment, and firepower to scatter fragments of matte grey among the Jovian moons. Cruisers broadcast junk signals and random sensor pings, luring in overeager captains hungry to notch a kill, only for other ships, waiting silently in the wings, to obliterate them. For many UNSC ships, the end came quietly, unrecorded except as a note in the Naval Registry ledgers. Others, those with captains and crews who knew every millimeter of their ships and themselves inside and out, waded into a dozen swift, ruthless brawls and waltzed out the other side, the Jovian and Saturnian radiation belts allowing them to fade back into the darkness, ready to dance again.

The ships of the Mars Defense Group could have tipped the scales. However, Battlegroups _Mars_ , _Lucifer, Nike_ , _Dreadnought_ and _Piorun_ had their own problems to deal with. As alien ships swarmed into the outer Solar System, another Abyssal fleet, seven hundred strong, exited slip space just above Deimos, forced into real space by the anti-jump beacons scattered throughout Mars orbit. The sensor stations on the tiny moon just managed to blast out a warning before bombardment reduced them to smoking craters. The closest battlegroups, _Mars_ and _Nike_ , immediately attacked the enemy, _Piorun_ and _Dreadnought's_ bombers, _Lucifer_ 's guns, and the Martian ODP network close behind. Now only Battlegroups _Piorun_ and _Nike_ remained, along with elements of _Dreadnought_ , bloody and limping, raiding and harassing the Abyssal fleet parked in high orbit. They left behind the wrecks of three hundred and eighty nine UNSC warships, including the Pantheon-class battleships _Mars_ and _Lucifer_ themselves. In exchange, however, four hundred and twenty three Abyssal vessels also contributed their wreckage to the quickly-growing orbital graveyard, a ring of metal and bodies which wrapped itself all the way around the Martian equator. Also within that graveyard were the remains of the ODP network, which had accounted for half the UNSC's kill count. _New Harmony Station_ in particular had brought down a pair of cruisers and a battleship before her crew were forced to evacuate to the surface. If the latest trio of 200-kiloton detonations above the heavily fortified Abyssal beachheads in the Tharsis Montes were any indication, they had plenty of fight left in them. Despite the fairly even, even favorable naval trade though, the fact was that the Abyssals had the numbers to sustain their losses. The UNSC did not, and now the human ground forces were being slowly picked off by orbital bombardment. It was only a matter of time.

Yet, despite the brutal, ruthless back-alley knife fights among the titans' rings, for all the stubborn, dogged resistance of the red planet, the main show took place above the crown jewel of the UNSC. For three days now, the Home Fleet had held the Luna Perimeter, wave after wave of Abyssal assaults breaking upon their shields and armor. Not a single gun went unfired, a single missile unlaunched, from the thousand shields of Earth. It was barely enough; sensors had registered around two thousand hostile contacts right outside of Lunar orbit before the opening shots. Almost double the number of ships which had attacked Reach, and when combined with the simultaneous attacks on Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, there were well over three times as many alien vessels in the Solar System as in Epsilon Eridani. Formations and sub formations of ships grouped up, broke apart, engaged and disengaged, weaving plasma trails throughout near-Earth space while lobbing salvos at each other across hundreds of thousands of kilometers. Battered UNSC ships ducked into Luna's shadow to repair and recover, slingshotting around the other side to conduct drive by shootings on Abyssal divisions locked into their slow, grinding advance. Above and below the solar plane, battleship divisions held critical sectors of space, cruisers and frigates buzzing around them like swarms of protective, angry bees, doggedly standing their ground against Abyssal ships seeking to use their superior numbers to envelop the Home Fleet from all sides.

Occasionally, a roaming, marauding destroyer division would identify an isolated, distracted enemy detachment. As battleships and heavy cruisers disrupted their formations with devastating, if inaccurate, main battery salvoes and blinded them with plasma and nuclear explosions, the destroyers used the enemy's own tactics against them, sweeping in from above, below, and behind to volley torpedoes, energy projectors, and MACs from close range, not stopping to take in the destruction, always moving, always prowling, always hunting. Alternatively, hundreds of micro-portals would puncture the void, briefly disgorging bombers to dump death all over any alien ships foolish enough to wander away from their overlapping point-defense fields. Yet, for every loss the Abyssals took, for every kill the Home Fleet scored, there were always two more ships to take its place. The Home Fleet fought hard, fought well, but it was not immune to losing ships, and every loss let the Abyssals one step closer to Earth herself.

Back above Mars, the crew of the _Egret_ stared down at the planet below, and at the slowly dissipating mushroom clouds. "Look at those blasts," Ensign Wu muttered, craning his neck at the view screen. "Those aren't salted bombs, are they? How bad do you think the radiation's gotta be? A few dozen Hiroshimas?"

"More, if anything. It's gonna be decades before it's clean. Jesus, I gotta give it to the alien bastards. They're like cockroaches. Overgrown, planet-eating cockroaches." Ensign Brown shook her head slowly, face red and brow dripping with sweat.

"Alright, alright, let's keep chatter down." Pavchenko consulted the orbital display for the third time this hour. "We're coming up on a decent venting spot in another two hours. Just hang on until then."

A chorus of soft 'aye sir's responded before the CIC went silent, everyone conscious of the limited capacity of the corvette's heat sinks. Configured for scouting and patrol duties, a stealth ship _Egret_ was not, and it hadn't been five hours since the last heat dump before people started taking shirts off. Pavchenko didn't have the heart to stop them; if it weren't for his need to maintain appearances, his uniform would long be draped over his chair. At least the life support worked even with minimal reactor output. The thought of breaking out the chemical air scrubbers was… unpleasant.

"Heads up." Lieutenant Patterson raised her voice, instantly drawing all eyes to the sensor console. "Got a contact, passive sensors, five thousand kilometers and closing. Can't classify, but it's not that big, sir."

"Got it. All hands, silent running, repeat, silent running. Nav, standby to increase reactor output and thrust." Brown nodded and positioned her hands over her controls. "Any indication of hostile intent?"

"Negative, sir, can't register any weapons signatures and the contact is not accelerating, as far as I can tell." Patterson sighed into her fist. "What I wouldn't give for a radar ping or two…"

"Just can't risk it."

The sleek, angular, yet strangely organic form of an Abyssal destroyer swept across the view screen. Nobody on the bridge dared breathe as its gaze seemed to pass over _Egret_ 's form. For all intents and purposes, to an outside observer, _Egret_ looked dead, not a hint of heat or light coming from her boxy form, a slight axial spin completing the picture. However, for all they knew, the Abyssal might try to blow them up anyway, out of boredom or whatever the alien equivalent was. Luckily the destroyer passed without incident, coming as close as fifty kilometers as it pushed through _New Harmony Station_ 's remains. As it withdrew, it fired missiles at the planet below, followed by drop pods, catching fire as they hit the atmosphere. Its main battery also fired off into space somewhere, probably engaging Battlegroup _Nike._ With some geometry, Pavchenko plotted the drop pods' impact point to somewhere in Acidalia Planitia, behind UNSC lines. His jaw clenched. Even _Egret_ 's minimal firepower could easily turn those fiery streaks into actual fireballs, but there was no point. That destroyer would make quick work of the corvette and then launch more pods. Nor could he risk a signal. He'd just have to trust that the 7th Army's air defenses were awake at the wheel.

"Ten thousand kilometers and fading. We're in the clear, sir."

"Thank you, Patterson." Pavchenko took a drink from his canteen, then checked the display again. "One and a half hours to heat dump."

"Aye, sir."

As the bridge crew went back to their duties, he was left to sit in silence, his only companions his thoughts and the whirring of the fans. Those thoughts wandered back to Reach. It'd been around a day, two days, since Admiral Lasky had sent _Egret_ chasing after _Cormorant_. As far as Pavchenko knew, _Cormorant_ was gone, but surely Admiral Lasky was getting suspicious by now? If the might of the Epsilon Eridani Defense Fleet could smash into the Abyssals from behind, then the battle now raging just beyond lunar orbit would tip decisively in the UNSC's favor. Surely reinforcements were coming, call or no call. Right?

Right?

* * *

" _Commander Hutchinson, report to CIC. Repeat, Commander Hutchinson, report to CIC._ "

" _Now hear this. At 2400 hours, all flight decks will be cleared for combat ops. Repeat, all flight decks will be cleared at 2400 hours. Personnel without duties are strictly prohibited on the flight deck after 2400 hours._ "

" _Attention all hands. Nuclear ordnance in motion on Track 4. Repeat, nuclear ordnance in motion on Track 4. Interference will be met with lethal force. Standard radiation warnings and precautions in effect._ "

" _This is a message from Engineering. All hands, secure for slip space transition at 2000 hours. Repeat, secure for slip space transition at 2000 hours._ "

"Your quarters. Do not leave under any circumstances unless you are called for." The unsmiling marine glanced up at where the wall met the ceiling, where a small security camera sat, inconspicuously recording everything. "And don't try anything funny, either. A separate guard detachment will arrive shortly." With one last suspicious glance, he turned away and left the room.

"I thought we were past this stage already." Dawn sighed and pinched between her eyes. "But, if everyone instantly loved me, that'd be more worrying. Ah, bother." She turned and surveyed the living quarters she found herself in. Four rows of beds, stacked three high and laid out four beds deep, took up the majority of the compartment, which was divided in two by a thin wall. The left and right sections both contained two rows of bunks which each had a long, narrow table in between them. Lockers flanked the entrance, supplementing the footlockers beneath the bottom beds. Two doors in the back lead to the communal bathrooms. Unlike _Infinity_ , there was no sign of any holotank or comm station.

"Well, I guess it's all the same." Choosing one of the lower bunks, she dropped the duffel bag containing her few possessions into a footlocker and fell backwards onto the mattress. A grunt of pain escaped her as the thin thing did little to cushion her back's impact with the bedframe. "Ugh… I feel like I've been downgraded."

Staring at the ceiling, Dawn could see exposed, tidy bundles of pipes and cables running in all directions, covered only by thin metal grates for easy access. On _Infinity_ , they were completely hidden from view behind white ceiling panels. _Eternal_ 's unadorned walls sported bright colors and lighting only where it was strictly necessary for direction and warning. Otherwise, there was only a thin, dull grey coat of paint to prevent tarnish, large welding marks, long scratches, dents and scrapes left exposed everywhere as a sign of her hasty construction. No bold lines and sweeping geometric decorations here; the only things protruding from the ceiling were industrial halon-spraying fire suppression valves. The scars of battle could be found throughout her halls as well. _Eternal_ had taken many a penetrating hit throughout her career, and temporary patches, makeshift welds, and emergency bracing had accumulated over the years until they ran together like thick ridges of dull, metallic scar tissue, marring the ceilings, floors, walls — hundreds of spots where plasma had converted titanium into molten slag, thousands of ragged holes punched by. There were so many, _Eternal_ 's armor was probably thicker now than as built, by dint of layers of self-welding patches and emergency quick-apply structural panels. _Infinity_ had been built with love and care, with exploration, endurance, and comfort in mind. _Eternal_ was cheap, quick, and after nine years of service already counted as an old ship.

Old, and beaten. On the run in, Dawn had the privilege of peeking into the Pelican's cockpit. Only for a minute or so, but long enough to take in the sight of _Hope Springs Eternal_ slowly coming into view. On its way to the hangars, the drop ship passed over the cruiser's starboard armor belt; or, what was left of it, anyway. She remembered the ship saving her life by eating a volley of plasma torpedoes in her stead. Three — or had it been four? — days later, only the most basic of repairs was complete, a consequence of too many damaged ships and not enough docks to go around. The melted, bubbling expanse of armor Dawn remembered had cooled into a twisted, warped, and ragged sheet of metal. It wouldn't have been out of place in a modern art museum, a particularly macabre one.

Besides ruining her armor, the torpedoes had destroyed nearly all of _Eternal_ 's starboard missile pods, point defense turrets, and cannon batteries, so much so that Dawn almost couldn't believe the cruiser's port flank belonged to the same ship as the starboard. Melted bits of turret and machinery jutted out, what little which had survived the scouring of a dozen balls of starcore-hot plasma. The ionized gas had melted straight through the ablative battle plate in several locations, searing the structural plating underneath. Not that the rest of the armor looked much better, but it at least could hold in atmosphere. Dozens of starboard compartments still laid open to vacuum, sealed by bulkheads and blast doors. On her way to her new quarters, Dawn overheard a pair of corpsmen talking about the human cost; while casualties were kept to a minimum by evacuating all non-essential crew to the central citadel, not everyone could escape, and twenty-nine men and women were currently MIA, considered KIA, bodies irrecoverable. She hid her face from them, not wanting to face their justified anger without some time to prepare.

And yet, despite her wounds, _Eternal_ endured, core systems untouched for the most part. Her reactors hummed, propulsion sparked, MAC and energy projectors sat at the ready, sensor suite primed for enemy contact. She had enough shield generators online to project a weak field, enough to repel a few 25 cm railgun rounds, and her slip space drive could still spin up without issue, and so she was pronounced fit for duty and thrown back into the line of battle. The rumor mill was working overtime, and though no official word had come down yet, everyone, from the staff officers to the lowliest crewman, knew: they were heading to Earth.

Earth. Dawn let her head fall against the threadbare pillow, closed her eyes, and turned the word over in her mouth. It brought up a well of mixed feelings. On one hand, well, it was _Earth_. Humanity's, and by extension, her home. Despite the circumstances, it would be a lie to claim a large part of her wasn't excited about the prospect of seeing it again. If Reach had been turned back into a living, green world, then Earth, with its lesser degree of destruction, had to be back to normal by now. Now that she had a body, perhaps she could visit its surface, see the sights of Paris, New York, Tokyo, Sydney, maybe catch a shuttle to Luna for a weekend, all the places she'd heard of but could never have dreamed of seeing for herself — at least, until now. Unbidden, she thought about Amber, still locked up in a cell back on _Infinity_. A tide of frustration threatened to spill out in the form of profanities at the memory of Admiral Lasky brushing off her inquiries time and time again, and at her own failure to do more. She _knew_ , deep down in her heart, that Amber could _never_ be a threat to the UNSC or humanity, she didn't know how to prove it but she _knew_ and if the Admiral could just see past his own emotions and give her a _chance…_ Just like Dawn, Amber deserved the chance to fully live this second chance miraculously granted to them, to experience the world through a flesh and bloody body rather than a metal hull and sterile sensors. Perhaps, if she performed well enough at Earth, she could finally influence Lasky to give Amber a chance? It was a long shot, but the idea of experiencing something like Paris, or Tokyo together with her, helping her forget that her first days in this world were spent in a cell, in the company of people who hated her for no good reason…

On the other hand, the last she remembered of Earth was a smoldering ruin, scarred by energy projectors and surrounded by shipwrecks. Mushroom clouds rising over African cities, a dozen Kursks playing out in the North American plains and Asian steppes, fighters and bombers dueling in the smoky skies above Europe and South America… She recalled the Covenant battlecruiser crashing into Voi, and the horror of the Flood spilling out of its wreck. She could still see assault carriers scouring Eastern Africa with fire and fury, and couldn't even blame them for it. That _abomination_ had been an affront and a menace to all life everywhere, praise God and thank the Buddha that the Covies had had the weapons to stop it. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face the planet that she failed to protect again, when the memories were still so fresh. Perhaps Earth wouldn't be the idyllic sightseeing trip she imagined after all…

Then the shock of the African portal, and the secrets to which it lead… even now, she found the idea of the Forerunners, the gods of the Covenant, to be a hard thing to grasp. A race capable of creating the Ark and the Halos, who cast a shadow over the galaxy a hundred thousand years after disappearing, so large that humanity was a mere child, playing amongst ancient ruins it could barely comprehend, ruins which still put the grandest monuments it had ever built to shame. It made her feel… very, very small.

She remembered the final battle, of Covenant ships firing on one another as drop ships ferried a combined task force of human and alien troops to the surface of the Ark with one goal — kill the madman who had plunged the galaxy into war. The sight of marines fighting with Elites, Scorpions and Wraiths advancing side by side, Phantoms dropping supplies to embattled ODSTs and Pelicans providing gunfire support to Hunter teams, gave her hope that despite everything, alien and human could come to understand one another. The exhilaration of landing upon an alien world, and then the desperate mission to Halo, to fire the super weapon before the Flood could resurge and consume all life. And then, finally, the mad dash back towards the portal, seconds away from closing—

The scar around her midriff twinged, causing Dawn to inhale sharply. It also had the effect of snapping her back to the present, right as the compartment door slid open. She narrowly avoided smacking her head against the bunk above her as a sudden burst of voices trampled over her peace and quiet.

"And I said…"

"… you'd think, right? Bastards…"

"… but if it misses, we're beyond fucked…"

"… well, that's just how it is, ain't it?"

A platoon of marines filed in, quietly murmuring amongst themselves as they filtered through the rows of bunks. A few arguments broke out over the most desirable berths, but the NCOs wandering among the men stopped from escalating, sometimes with diplomacy, other times simply by wading through the conflict and claiming the bunk for themselves. A few marines cast curious glances at her, but they got the message when she turned over and faced the wall. She didn't feel much for conversation— at least, until a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

"Remember people, briefing at 1800 Hours in the Company Bay. Get settled before then, clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That's what I like to hear. Alright, fall out!"

"Of all the people…" Lieutenant Julie Armandez frowned as a voice, not one of her marines, came from behind her. It sounded familiar, and as she turned around she came face first with a certain young woman rising from a bottom bunk. "Lieutenant… Armandez, right? Is that you?"

"Forward Unto Dawn?" Armandez reached out a hand to help her up. "Well, I'll be damned, haven't seen you since Turul!"

"I didn't expect to run into you here, either," Dawn looked the marine up and down. In a clean uniform and out of armor, she cut a very different figure. "So you're my guards? Not too shabby."

"Heh. Could say the same to you." Armandez stood back and held Dawn at arm's length, a warm but guarded look in her eyes. "Last I heard, you were a walking corpse. I see rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated." Left unspoken was the question, _how_?

Dawn laughed, slightly uncomfortable. "I'm just that awesome, I guess? Come on, lieutenant, we're past this stage, yeah?"

"…" Armandez's shoulders dropped and she smiled ruefully. "Yeah. I guess we are. Fighting Abbies together'll do that to you. I don't mean to come off as suspicious, just promise you won't go, I don't know, super-mode and kill us all?"

"Never," Dawn said firmly. "I'm was already with the UNSC, but after those alien assholes turned half of me into slag? It's personal."

Armandez gave her a slightly perturbed look. "Slag, you say? I hope that's an exaggeration. Though after what you pulled…" She shuddered slightly as she recalled what transpired in the Turul's cramped halls. It was horrific, for lack of a better word, though not due to casualties on the UNSC's part. They'd taken them, to be sure, injuries and bodies mounting as they fought meter by bloody meter to clear the Abbies from Reach's moon, but it wasn't like they were particularly noteworthy. No, casualties weren't the reason. It had been Dawn, the smiling, slightly nervous, actually just a hair shorter than herself now that she was really looking, girl right in front of her. She looked just like any other human now, but on Turul she'd been more a force of nature than a soldier, spitting death from a seemingly infinite arsenal of automatic weaponry she continuously pulled from thin air. Crystal rounds, shrapnel, plasma fire, high-energy lasers, all seemed to wash over her harmlessly, deflected or absorbed by the thick plates of titanium which covered her yet did not encumber her. She moved like a Spartan in power armor, charging into alien fire and into melee combat, where brute strength compensated for technique as she pounded Abbies into bloody smears. It was definitely refreshing, being on the other side of the unstoppable juggernaut for once, but Armandez couldn't shake the feeling that Dawn was less of a soldier and more of a wild animal — sure, she tolerated, maybe even enjoyed their presence for now, but if she turned on them, what could stop her from chowing down? Certainly not an assault rifle. "… it's just nice to see the Abbies getting crushed for a change."

"Yeah, well, ground combat _is_ a nice change of pace from space. Sorry, that sounded bratty. But it's true, once you get past the pants-shitting terror it really boils down to flying in circles, chucking a MAC round, a few hundred missiles, and a fart every few minutes in the enemy's general direction. Not the most stimulating stuff, you know?"

"I don't." Dawn deflated, and Armandez gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I understand the general sentiment. We're not supposed to enjoy fighting, but it gets boring like anything else if you don't change it up from time to time, yeah?"

The other woman's expression lit up. "See, you get it! Thank God, I thought I was sick or something. Guess it's a normal human thing."

Armandez sucked in air through her teeth. "Yeah, see, I wouldn't go that far. We're all pretty fucked in the head, comes with the job. If you're looking for paragons of stability and mental health, you won't find them here." Dawn looked slightly put out by her nonchalance, but before she could delve into the nuances of PTSD another person injected themselves into the conversation.

"Well, if it ain't the lass herself!" Private Iverson pushed through the marines milling around the barracks, Laughley close behind with a sour expression on his face. "Ah, lieutenant, sir." Her focus shifted back to Dawn. "Looking good, by the way! Did I ever thank you for pulling our asses out of the fire? No? Well, consider yourself thanked."

"You're… welcome?" Dawn said, taken aback by Iverson's enthusiasm. "How's the hand, by the way?"

"What, this?" Iverson held up her right hand, still heavily bandaged from when a ricocheting crystal round turned a good chunk of it into pink mist. "It'll be a nasty scar, but I got lucky and it didn't burn. Medical's got me on the good shit. It'll heal up right as rain—though not as good as you. Frankly, I'm jealous."

Suddenly self-conscious, Dawn felt her ears flush red. "I-it's not like I decided to be like this, you know?"

"Ah, I'm just fucking with ya!" Iverson reached out to ruffle her hair, drawing an embarrassed squeak from the shorter girl. "You can make it up to me by letting me in on it. Seriously, how do you do it? You must be on the _real_ good shit."

"Too bad they couldn't put your brain on the good shit as well. 'twould make your voice more bearable." Laughley squinted against the overhead LEDs, one hand shading his eyes as the other rubbed circles into his temple. "Everything hurts. Your voice hurts. My bones hurt. I hate everything."

"Sergeant Laughley. Mind your manners in front of our guest."

"Guest?" His gaze shifted over to Dawn. "Oh. You. If you're going to kill us all, make it quick, okay? Good. Good night." With that, he dropped facedown onto a bottom bunk, covering his head with a pillow.

"Ah, don't mind him," Iverson said, noticing Dawn's slightly hurt expression. "We had eight hours of liberty on _Infinity_ and what did he do? Got plastered, that's what. When the call came down, doc gave him meds to force some sobriety into his drunken ass, but they always leave you with a _wicked_ hangover."

"Yes, I'd hoped you wouldn't have to witness that, but now you have, and that's that." Armandez sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Honestly, I don't know what command was thinking when they put us in charge of watching you. We're barely in shape to fight Innies, let alone Abbies, and you? Forget it. Might as well try to fight a Spartan."

"I'm flattered, but I think you give me a bit too much credit." Dawn sighed and flopped back down on her bed. "After everything, Admiral Lasky still doesn't trust me, huh?"

"Aw, don't take it personally, you hear, lass?" Iverson sat down next to her. "It's more, uh, standard operating procedure, you see? Though I can say for ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine percent sure nobody ever dreamed of something like this happening, outside of some religious loons, but who cares about them anyway."

"Some 'religious loons' nearly sent us the way of the dinosaurs a few decades ago, in case you forgot." Armandez folded her arms and leaned against the central table, making way for marines moving around the compartment. "But I agree. Don't put too much thought to it. The Admiral's just doing his due diligence. Iverson there, this drunken fool here, me, anyone who was with us on Turul and didn't get killed—" She nodded at a few marines. They acknowledged her, and a few saved small smiles for Dawn. "— we know you're good people. But the replacements, and most of the fleet who hasn't fought directly alongside you?"

"You're a mystery, a heavily-armed, very deadly mystery which killed twelve Abbie battleships with her right hand and some spit, gum, and duct tape."

"Again, not how I would put it, but yes. And do stop interrupting, private." Iverson looked suitably chastened, though a smirk still bent her lips. "Those who've had the benefit of seeing your abilities but not your personality are very understandably still wary. Putting you on an unimportant ship and surrounding you with a platoon of marines is a concession to good military sense, even if it seems excessive from where you're standing." Armandez spread her hands in a what-can-you-do sort of gesture. "At the end of the day, we have no way of reading your mind."

"That's the rub of it, then." A glum silence fell over the three of them, punctuated only by Laughley's snores. The compartment was slowly quieting as marines, having claimed their bunks and dropped off their things, either caught a few hours of sleep or wandered out to find food or use _Eternal_ 's highly limited recreational facilities. "Well, guess I'll just have to prove myself on the battlefield. If I help defend Earth, they'll have to be convinced. We _are_ going to Earth, right?"

Iverson snorted. "It's the worst-kept secret in the fleet at this point. Yeah, we're going to Earth. It's a right proper field trip, it is, blood, screaming, mass casualties, the usual."

"I do wish it was under better circumstances. Like a vacation. Haven't had one in years." Armandez frowned as a thought struck her. "If you're really, _really_ the _Forward Unto Dawn_ , then the last time you saw Earth was, well… thirty, going on forty years ago, right? That's got to bring up some mixed feelings. Are you going to be okay?"

"… well I've got to be, don't I? I don't mean to brag, but a lot is hinging on me performing, right?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how full your glass is."

"How could it possibly be fortunate—"

"Ooookay, this is getting way too serious!" Iverson suddenly stood, clapping both Dawn and her lieutenant on their shoulders. "I mean, it was already serious, but now it's just sad. In a day or two we're all gonna be heroes or we're all gonna be dead, so what's the point in getting mopey?" She grabbed hold of Dawn's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, just because we're your guards doesn't mean we can't be friends too. Let's get something to eat!"

"Wait!" Dawn frantically backpedaled, digging her heels in against Iverson's tugging. "I'm not supposed to leave unless someone officially calls for me!"

"Well, I'm someone, and I'm declaring this official. I'm sure Captain Khalid would back me up." Iverson turned to Armandez, who was trying and failing to hide her amusement. "Coming, sir?"

"Eh, sure. Why not? It's almost dinner time anyway. We'll keep an eye on you, make sure you don't start a fire or poison the mashed potatoes."

"Thank God," Laughley moaned, apparently awake. His voice muffled by the mattress, he continued, "You are all _so fucking loud_."

"You did this to yourself." Armandez dusted off her pants, then moved to stand next to Dawn. "Let's go, and not keep the good sergeant in torment any longer."

"Bring back something greasy and I'll forgive you… sir… "

* * *

" _It's a two and a half day circuit, so at normal cruising speed, we'd make this in just over a day. If we really open up the throttle, we can bring it down to around twenty hours, but any more than that and the space-time continuum starts to get sick of tolerating our causality-breaking shenanigans._ "

"Okay, twenty is better than twenty five. I'll take it. You're sure that going faster would be dangerous?"

" _Nine years on auxiliary ships gives you a fine idea of what slipspace drives can sustain, sir._ "

"I'll take your word for it, Captain Liang."

Garcia caught the tail end of that exchange as he quietly slipped into the conference room. The door closed behind him with a soft hiss, causing Roland, avatar projected on the central display table, to turn around. " _Excellent, all guests now present and accounted for. Admiral, remember your hospitality._ "

The yellow AI disappeared as Lasky turned and went to shake Garcia's hand. "Ah, Captain. Right on time. Thank you for coming."

"No trouble at all, sir. It's a privilege to be here, I hope I can be of some use." In truth, he didn't know how much help he would be, mostly because he knew only the barest details of the plan. He understood that Earth was under attack, and the fleet was racing to the rescue; every soldier, sailor, marine, airman and their mother did by now. He also understood that Dawn would be playing a significant role by virtue of her sheer firepower, and that that was why he was present at this hasty pre-sortie conference. But coming off of a quick five-hour power crash on his bed and three cups of strong coffee, Garcia's brain was still playing catch-up. He resolved to stay quiet and get more context before chipping in.

"A 'privilege', you say." Lasky snorted and shook his head. "Oh, the joys of innocence. But enough of that, come, join us." Four holograms occupied seats around the table, eyes on him as he made his way forward. The only other person physically present was Captain Shen, _Infinity_ 's actual commanding officer, playing gracious host to a fleet staff conference for the third time in as many days. Garcia would never understand how he did it, but despite being directly responsible for the command and operation of the first and most renowned of the Navy's three _Infinity-_ class supercarriers, in three days he'd never seen the man show so much as a hint of stress. No sheen of sweat, a perfectly crisp uniform, no coffee cup close at hand, and Garcia was pretty sure he managed to get at least seven hours of sleep every night. Even at present, facing the possibility of diving head first and eyes closed into the shallow end of an all-out brawl between the Home Fleet and an Abyssal armada, Shen looked positively relaxed, studying the display hologram like an observer at a mildly engaging chess match, but who also was meeting a friend for lunch a few blocks over and would need to leave in an hour or so. He ought to publish a self-help book, Garcia thought; God knew he'd be first in line to buy it.

Lasky cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the table back to him. "We're pressed for time, but I don't think everyone here is acquainted yet. If you all will allow me?" The assembled officers made accommodating noises. "Thank you. This is Captain Douglas Garcia, former commanding officer, UNSC _Scorpia_ , current commanding officer of the Fleet Auxiliary Forces. You have all been briefed on what that entails, and I believe that Captain Garcia's input in this process will be of value." The other officers made polite noises, and Lasky proceeded to introduce each of them in turn.

"Captain Josefina Marcos, Battlegroup _Thoth_." The officer he indicated cast a neutral gaze over Garcia, not a hint of emotion to be found in her expression.

"Captain Shigeki Nomura, Battlegroup _Enterprise_." A severe-looking man gave him a respectful nod. Garcia's spine straightened out as Nomura's hooded eyes evaluated his every move.

"Captain Ingrid Tourville, Battlegroup _Fujin_." The woman's scarred face contrasted oddly with the friendly smile she wore. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Captain Henry Shen, Battlegroup _Infinity._ " The captain gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but remained focused on the battle sphere display in the middle of the room.

"Last but not least, Captain Liang Fangjie, Battlegroup _Gallant_. I believe you two have met."

" _We have indeed, sir._ " Liang seemed to be the only one at least somewhat glad to see Garcia. " _Good to see you again, Captain. I don't think I ever got the chance to thank you for bailing the evacuation out. Really pulled my ass out of the fire._ "

"Ah. Uh, thank you. None needed. Just doing my job, sir."

" _No need for sir, we're all the same rank here. Admiral excepted, of course._ " Liang nodded at Lasky, ceding the floor. " _Shall we continue where we left off, sir?_ "

"Yes, back to the matter at hand." Lasky motioned for Garcia to find a place at the table. "I believe that a standard formation with _Infinity_ and _Fujin_ in the vanguard, _Enterprise_ and _Thoth_ in the middle and _Gallant_ in the rear, will serve us best. Any disagreements?"

" _None here, sir._ "

" _Negative._ "

" _Nothing, sir._ "

"No objections."

Nomura leaned forwards, eyebrows knitting a millimeter closer together. " _May I say something, sir?_ " Lasky gestured for him to continue. " _My thanks. I have no objections to_ Enterprise _'s place in the formation, she is not a frontline ship. However, I request that Destroyer Divisions 12 and 13 be grouped with Battlegroup_ Fujin _for the duration of the transit. I am not placing them under Captain Tourville's command — rather, I wish for the destroyers to be in the best position to push ahead and deploy nav beacons so that_ Enterprise _'s strike wings can commence operations as soon as possible._ "

" _Don't trust me with them, eh_?" Tourville laughed, the only one who found humor in the situation. " _I've no objections. It's a big universe, I'll find room for 'em._ "

"Your request is granted, Captain Nomura. Have your bombers prepped for immediate action." Lasky made a note on his datapad, and the fleet display hovering above the middle of the table shifted to reflect the new arrangements. "As for the rest of the fleet, upon transition into real space Battlegroup _Fujin_ will fall back into formation with _Enterprise_." The display showed the battlegroup in question pulling back from the front and coming alongside Battlegroup _Enterprise_. "Captain Shen, I assume you have no objections to _Infinity_ bearing the brunt of the initial assault?"

"None whatsoever, sir." Shen paused, frowned, and put a finger to his ear. "Hm. I apologize, Admiral, but something has come up regarding _Infinity_ 's main battery. It sounds minor, but I had better go to make sure. May I step away for a few minutes?"

"Of course. Alert me immediately if it turns out to be serious." Shen nodded and stepped away from the table, making eye contact with Garcia for a bare moment. That moment was all it took for him to convey a clear message: _watch yourself_. "Back to the matter at hand. After real space transition, our priority will be to link to the Sol Command Net and determine the overall battlespace situation, and then to break through to relieve the Home Fleet. However, our latest intelligence, courtesy of Admiral Voigt, has indicated that during the Abyssal attack on Reach, some type of electronic or slip space jamming was in effect which did not noticeably hinder intra-system communications or jumps, but muffled all inbound and outgoing messages. I think it's safe to hypothesize that the same thing has happened to the Solar System. In practice, this just means we're jumping blind, but be on the lookout for comms problems."

" _So long as we're assuming that Earth_ is _actually under attack, but hey, since when has assuming the worst case ever let us down?_ " Roland materialized beneath the display, hands held up in a shrug. " _Got the calculations you wanted, sir. By the way, Captain, looking sharp._ "

It took Garcia a moment to realize Roland was speaking to him. "Yeah, it's amazing what a chance to shower and catch a full eight hours will do for you."

" _Can't relate. Well, I'll just be hanging around in the background, waiting for you all to come to the conclusion I know you'll come to. Call me if you need me._ "

Lasky blew out a long breath as Roland disappeared as quickly as he came. "Apologies for his manners. He's been acting rather infantile; I think he's embarrassed the Abyssals managed to pull such a major e-warfare coup over him."

"It's alright. Greater the pride, harder the fall, right? Even uber-geniuses have got to fail once in a while, and it's refreshing to see that our AIs are rather human under all that fancy code." Garcia chuckled. Nobody else did, and it struck him that the subject of AIs messing up _might_ just be a sensitive one in the context of a war. "Ahem."

" _Right…_ " Nomura said, breaking the tense silence and dragging out the syllable. " _As long as it doesn't happen again._ " He brought up a 3D map of the Solar System, the fleet's exit point marked in red, overlaid on the Sol Superior Interstellar Jump Point. " _I'm slightly concerned about our exit point. I understand the need for urgency, but I'm afraid we won't have time to properly evaluate the situation before we are engaged. Given that, by standard Abyssal doctrine, the Home Fleet is most likely outnumbered, our formation runs the risk of overcommitting and being overwhelmed by superior numbers. It's probably an unavoidable risk, but still…_ "

Tourville rolled her eyes. " _Always the cautious one. Have you considered that a bit more time spent 'evaluating the situation' is also time for the Abbies to react to_ us _? We're going for shock and awe here, not a dainty approach._ " She waved a hand and summoned a readout of distances and travel times. " _As it is, we're coming out at the Sol IJP, a bit over three light-seconds out from the Lunar Perimeter. At our projected velocity and acceleration, it'll take a few minutes for us to close to acceptable accuracy ranges. That's plenty of time for the Abbies to spot us and wheel their ships around._ " She gave Nomura a lopsided grin in response to his pointed glare. " _Unlike the Perimeter, there's no jump interdiction beacons scattered there._ _Unless we close the distance rapidly, employing an irregular maneuvering pattern, we're going to have a few dozen Abbie battleships dropping out of slipspace directly in our path. I know_ Infinity _bullrushed its way through a Covie cruiser that one time, but not all of us can be that thick-headed, yeah?_ "

" _Whatever the situation is, we must proceed carefully,_ " Marcos cautioned. " _I agree with Captain Nomura. Taking sufficient time to ascertain where we can be most useful does not preclude a swift approach to engagement ranges. Assuming the primary engagements are happening along the Lunar Perimeter—not unlikely, given that it is a Priority One defensive zone— we should choose our course carefully so we do not get bogged down. We are no good to the Home Fleet dead._ "

" _You too, Marcos?_ " Tourville scoffed. " _And I thought you were the sensible one_."

" _I am. You are being rash._ "

" _Let's all just calm down, here—_ "

"Thank you, Captain Liang. Let's keep it civil," Lasky warned. "We're all on the same side. Captain Sh—" He grimaced as he remembered where Shen was. "Right. In his absence, Captain Garcia, do you have any input?"

"Huh? Me, sir?" Garcia gulped as the fractious officers turned their gazes on him. Officially they were all equal in status, but there existed a certain unspoken hierarchy among them. As a destroyer captain, he would normally never, ever get in the middle of an argument between battleship and carrier commanders. It just wasn't done. "Erm, I—"

" _Oh, don't be so timid,_ " Tourville said. " _Despite your appearances, you obviously have something to contribute, or Admiral Lasky wouldn't have invited you. I, for one, am interested in seeing what the 'Fleet Auxiliary Forces',_ " she said, with air quotes so heavy as to be nearly audible, " _bring to this discussion._ "

" _Mind your tone,_ " Liang snapped. " _We've all seen what Forward Unto Dawn can do in battle. That sort of power warrants consideration._ "

" _Bite me—_ "

"Captain Tourville, behave yourself! You're on thin ice." Lasky locked eyes with her until she nodded a begrudging apology and sat back, then motioned to Garcia. "Go ahead."

Garcia took a deep breath, thinking furiously, then stepped forward and placed a hand on the display. "I… I personally believe we're too tunnel-visioned on conducting a single, heavy, breakthrough strike. Here — according to the current plan, all of our capital ships are grouped together throughout the initial contact phase, with the aim of combining forces with the Home Fleet."

Marcos tilted her head at where he indicated, expression still absolutely neutral. " _If you are saying that we are putting all our eggs in one basket, I fail to see what you are getting at. The battleplan already has a significant number of destroyer and cruiser divisions splitting off as independent mobile units, as well as frigates and corvettes fanning out in a picket sphere. They will remain to conduct harassment as our main forces link up with the Home Fleet battleline._ " Green highlights appeared around those groups, stretching out like tendrils from the core force to poke and jab at the red mass representing the hypothetical Abyssal fleet.

"Yes, exactly, the destroyers and light cruisers will _remain_ to conduct harassment. However, Forward Unto Dawn will be —sir, if I may ask, where exactly are you planning on deploying Forward Unto Dawn?" He asked, partly out of a genuine need to know, mostly to buy more time to pull something out of his ass.

Lasky pointed at one of the combined cruiser-destroyer squadrons arcing up and away above the planetary plane. "There, as you previously suggested, making use of her mobility."

"Oh—y-yes, quite right, as I suggested, sir." Lasky raised an eyebrow at his stutter. "Yes, and our limited data suggests that her combat efficiency is on the order of a cruiser or even a battleship, with superior maneuverability at the cost of a significant amount of survivability. Fortunately, that superior tactical maneuverability compensates for her survivability issues, to some extent."

" _Or unfortunately, if we ever have to put her down._ " Tourville feigned wide-eyed innocence at the venomous glares sent her way. " _What? I'm being realistic, the UNSC doesn't have the greatest track record with entities of unknown origin._ "

All eyes turned to Lasky. He grimaced, and when he spoke his voice came out measured and cautious, as if trying to pick its way through a particularly prickly forest. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. We can speculate all we want, but the fact is that at present, Forward Unto Dawn has given us no reason to doubt her loyalties. We must, and we will, plan and prepare contingencies, but excess paranoia is just as bad as being too trusting. And Tourville, if you insist on antagonizing your colleagues with tangential jabs, I'm sure Captain Gautier would be more than happy for _Quetzalcoatl_ to take _Fujin_ 's place."

As sparks flew high above his pay-grade, Garcia attempted to get his argument back on track. "Y-yes, anyway, so what we have is a highly mobile group with limited survivability and moderate endurance, but possessing proportionally exceptional firepower. In light of that unique situation, adhering to standard tactical doctrine feels rather… I don't know, stubborn? Bullheaded?"

He heard a quiet snort which sounded vaguely like Liang before Nomura responded. " _In the absence of freedom of maneuver, concentration of force is crucial to formation survivability. I get what you're saying, but our battleships and carriers lack the acceleration to keep pace with destroyer divisions._ " The icons of the battleships fanned out, attempting to follow the destroyers, but were quickly left behind as they struggled to pull through the same turns that the smaller ships could manage. " _On its own, isolated, even a battleship goes down rather quickly._ " Abyssal icons surged out from their primary fleet, crossing thousands of kilometers and swarming around the battleships like mosquitoes. " _Linking up with the Home Fleet, combining firepower and armor, presents the best chance of surviving long enough to make a meaningful difference in the battle. Dividing our forces might not produce the momentum and weight of armor and fire necessary to break through._ "

Garcia nodded, but his gaze remained on the display as he thought furiously, trying to apply a destroyer captain's perspective to an entire battlespace. "That's true, so long as our goal is to directly reinforce the Home Fleet. But please consider, for a moment, a different objective. Roland?"

The AI reappeared and bowed with a flourish. " _Your wish is my command, sir,_ " he said, adopting a comically exaggerated British accent.

"Right, show me… have you run a tactical analysis on the Abyssal response to Forward Unto Dawn?"

" _Of course, sir. I'm a smartass, not incompetent._ "

"Not something to be proud of," Garcia muttered under his breath, before continuing louder, "Great, thank you, please extrapolate that reaction onto an enemy force roughly… one and a half times the size, compounded by the presence of allied units."

" _Coming right up, projection certainty rated at 90 percent._ " A single yellow dot turned purple, swooped in on an attack run, then beat a hasty retreat. Almost immediately, a hefty chunk of the red mass detached itself, stretching long and thin as it reached out in pursuit of the purple dot.

"Now, please show the results of an attack run by all heavy combatants on bearing…" Garcia squinted at the display, working the geometry and angles out in his head. Gaining confidence as the numbers fell into place, he pointed with a sweeping gesture. "Relative to the standard system reference axis, three-two-zero by two-nine-eight, intercepting the enemy pursuit force here."

" _Oh, I_ like _the cut of your_ jib." A blue line pierced through the stretched-out blob, now reaching out towards the blinking purple dot like some eldritch claw. The blue blob representing the heavy forces of the reinforcement fleet accelerated along that line, tearing through the red blob and out the other side, away from the return fire which flew after it. The effects were immediate; though many Abyssal ships continued their pursuit, many more fell out of formation. Despite their resilience to human weaponry, even they could not escape unscathed from a close quarters bombardment by four heavy UNSC battegroups. As they retreated, bombers and fighters popped out of micro-portals all along the Abyssals' strung out line of pursuit, dropping torpedoes and nuclear warheads before fleeing, aided by the navigation beacons scattered along the purple dot's line of retreat.

 _That last bit was all me, by the way,_ Roland whispered in Garcia's neural implant. _Thank me later, sir_. He made a mental note to do so. Getting on Roland's good side could only be a good thing. What counted as a thank-you gift for AIs? _In lieu of galactic domination, cash is always appreciated._

A coughing fit startled the room, as if that could purge the sensation of _yellow_ from his mind. He'd have to ask Verdant to do a full sweep, purge, and secure of his neural implant as soon as he got the chance. Shivering slightly, Garica gestured towards the frozen simulation. "As you can see, a tactical review shows that during the last battle the Abyssals demonstrated a willingness to commit highly disproportionate forces to engaging and destroying Forward Unto Dawn, far in excess of the actual damage she caused. We only have a sample size of one, but when compared to past incidents involving isolated capital ships, the difference is significant — the enemy committed an entire battleship division and several cruiser, destroyer, and frigate divisions to the pursuit. In addition, multiple ships changed targets to target her, often involving massive course changes, even in the absence of any coordinated target change. This indicates that, despite not encountering her like before, Abyssal forces tend to prioritize Forward Unto Dawn above all other targets."

Marcos spoke, a hint of interest finally showing on her blank features. " _I see. And you are hoping to repeat and exploit this behavior. I had not considered the battle data from this standpoint._ "

"Like Circinius," Lasky murmured, gaze distant as he recalled something from his past, fingering a smooth shard of iridescent metal hanging from a small cord around his neck.

" _Hmph. Credit where credit's due,_ " Tourville said, hologram leaning back and regarding the display with keen, thoughtful eyes. " _That's not totally half-baked._ "

Emboldened, Garcia threw caution to the wind and continued explaining his reasoning. "Speaking doctrinally, the role of destroyers and other light combatants isn't only to raid and harass the enemy, but also to pressure and manipulate them into a position which heavy combatants can exploit. In practice, we are, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "…less than effective in that role, primarily because it relies on the enemy viewing us as a threat worth shifting forces to respond to — which the Abyssals don't, barring an odd torpedo here and there. Given their observed reactions to Forward Unto Dawn, combined with her maneuverability, I think that she has a very real chance of actually fulfilling that tactical role. Finally, also speaking from the perspective of a destroyer captain, we have an entire solar system's worth of space to work with. As long as the Home Fleet isn't on the absolute verge of collapse, it seems wasteful not to make use of it."

" _I'll admit that being in command of a capital warship tends to narrow one's perspective, every problem a nail and whatnot,_ " Nomura said, holding up a hand to forestall Garcia's response, lips twitching down in a frown. " _But I still have concerns about your proposal. The principle of drawing forces away from the main enemy fleet is a sound one, and likely to apply given our available data, but will it apply enough?_ " At Garcia's look of confusion, he elaborated, " _Your strategy, while a good compromise between safety and efficiency, still runs the risk of erring too far on the side of caution and not landing a decisive blow quickly enough, especially given the fact that Forward Unto Dawn is only one unit and we do not have an accurate estimate of enemy numbers. Even if a significant portion broke off in pursuit, enough might remain to allow the enemy to continue concentrating their attacks on the Home Fleet, or perhaps even intensifying them to force a conclusion before our reinforcements could even the odds — exactly what we're trying_ not _to let happen._ "

Marcos nodded in agreement. _"The reason our initial strategy focused on a decisive breakthrough was that otherwise, we feared we could not wear down the enemy forces fast enough with our limited firepower to effect a significant difference in the outcome of the battle. If the safety of our relief forces was our only concern, we could happily place our ships at extreme weapons range and take potshots. But that would allow the Abyssals to effectively ignore our presence. I am personally in support of a more deliberate approach, but even then I still think we must eventually commit our forces to a pitched battle._ "

"Well that's—"

" _Please also keep in mind that Jump Interdiction Beacons are not placed far beyond the Lunar Perimeter,_ " Liang piped in. " _I share your desire to minimize risk, but remember that by staying outside of their area of influence, our ships are in danger of being attacked by tactical slipspace jumps._ "

Garcia winced as Tourville let out a 'thank you!'. He'd forgotten to account for the possibility of the Abyssals utilizing tactical slipspace jumps. The more maneuverable ships might be able to throw off their targeting, but the course of a battleship or a carrier, no matter how much they tried to vary their maneuvers, was fairly predictable in the end. If they dallied too long outside the vicinity of Earth and Luna, where those strange Forerunner-derived devices disrupted the currents of slipspace and prevented jumps, then the Abyssals could easily bring the brunt of their forces to bear upon them, crushing the reinforcements like ants before returning to their original plan like nothing had happened. Had he twenty Forward Unto Dawns, he could have come up with a rebuttal. Alas, he did not. "That's… that's a good point. I'm sorry, I didn't take that into account."

" _Hmph. You're too afraid of casualties is what you are._ " Tourville shook her head and let a breath out through gritted teeth. " _On such short notice, with so little prep, it's going to be ugly no matter how we go about this, no way around it. Question is, do we want it short ugly, or long ugly?_ "

" _The Abyssals would not limit their attacks to Earth,_ " Liang said in a thoughtful tone. " _Even when they attacked Reach, they spared a few ships to pin the secondary defense forces throughout Epsilon Eridani in place and unable to assist. They'll surely have sent some to attack Mars, at the very least, and the Jovian moons, and the longer we take the more likely it is they will return and reinforce their comrades. And then the siege breakers will become the besieged._ " He leaned forwards and focused the display on a group of ships flitting among the various battlegroups, like birds among elephants, with names like _Charity_ , _Bessemer_ , and _Haber-Bosch_. " _I need not remind you all that we're leaving_ all _of our auxiliary and logistics units behind for the sake of speed. We'll not have the supplies to sustain an extended engagement._ "

A glum silence fell over the table for a few minutes as the assembled officers weighed two bad options. If only they could have brought the entirety of System Fleet Eridani, Garcia thought. But then that would leave Reach undefended, unthinkable given what had just happened a few days ago. There would be riots in the streets. The collective handwringing lasted a little while longer before being broken by a soft laugh, gradually increasing in volume.

" _Ha… haha… hahahaha!_ " Tourville slapped a holographic hand down on the table, wiping tears from her eyes. " _Oh, look at us! We're all blind fucking idiots. Some fine officers we are!_ " Her laughing died down, but her shoulders continued to shake as she shook her head with mirth.

"If you have something to contribute, Captain, we would love to hear it," Lasky said, completely unamused. Tourville held up a hand as she caught her breath, rogue chuckles escaping her lungs.

" _Oh… my apologies, admiral, but we're just all being so damn stubborn!_ " She gestured around the table. " _'Don't create a dichotomy where there isn't one'_. _There's absolutely no reason we can't have the best of both worlds, we're just too stuck in our lanes to take a third option._ "

"A third option? I… ah." A gleam appeared in Lasky's eye, and he swiftly began to move ships around the display. "I think I understand. All it takes is a slight adjustment of angle, and… there. I believe that's your intended meaning?"

Now, instead of cutting through the Abyssals pursuing Dawn, the main forces had plowed straight through their now-weakened primary battleline. As Dawn lead the alien ships on a merry space, the Home Fleet formed up with the reinforcements and began to advance, the combination of powerful reinforcements and facing a suddenly weakened and disorganized battle line tipping the scales of power far enough for UNSC forces to begin pushing back. Mobile divisions continued to nip and bite at the enemy fleet while Dawn's group looped back around for another attack, drawing even more Abyssal ships away and further weakening their line. Tourville smiled and nodded.

" _Quite so, Admiral. Even if the overall force reduction isn't so great, localized weaknesses should present opportunities to cut through while suffering reduced losses. Even if the Abbie battle line doesn't present any weakpoints, we'll make our own. Simple enough, right? Even they can't be in two places at once._ "

"It's still not without danger," Lasky mused. "It depends on whether or not Forward Unto Dawn can survive long enough to enable us to regroup and go on the attack, especially since she'll no longer have the support of our heavy battlegroups." He rubbed his chin, staring at the tiny blue dot which represented the woman-ship-spirit-thing whom they were pinning all their hopes on. "But in the absence of further actionable intel, we don't know whether our forces can break through a full-strength Abyssal battleline, or whether strike on isolated segments will deplete their strength quickly enough. Forward Unto Dawn has demonstrated an ability to stay ahead of their forces for quite some time, and her maneuverability will allow her to stay unpredictable and avoid tactical jumps. We must work with the known quantities to try and mitigate the unknown. Do the rest of you have any thoughts?"

Marcos and Nomura looked at each other for a moment before seeming to come to a conclusion. " _I believe I speak for both of us,_ " Nomura said, " _when I say that I still have reservations. However, they're fairly generic and no greater than for any other strategy we've collectively come up with, and this seems to present the best balance between caution and urgency. Captain Garcia?_ "

"Huh? O-oh, yes?"

" _Do you believe Forward Unto Dawn can fulfill her role?_ "

Garcia gave a resolute nod. "I have no extraordinary concerns. If anything, given her history, she'll fight even harder if it's in defense of Earth."

" _Harder and better are not necessarily correlated,_ " Marcos warned. " _But in any case, I concur. No further objections at this time._ "

" _Other mobile divisions could help take the pressure off_ ," Liang offered. _"A sort of hand-off, if you will, sir. She could also temporarily land on another ship to rest and resupply._ "

"Good idea, captain. Forward Unto Dawn is currently on _Hope Springs Eternal._ Communicate with her to figure out what sorts of provisions she needs, with an emphasis on fuel. As a further precaution, I'll order her to be issued with a slip space jump beacon. That way, so long as she operates outside of the jump interdiction zone, other mobile division will be able to quickly jump to her aid." Lasky surveyed the room and took a deep breath, hands tightening by the barest amount on the edge of the display table. "Thank you all for your input. The original exit point stands. We will, of course, adjust our approach based on the local circumstances, which is why our priority remains to establish links with the Sol Command Net." Lasky nodded at Marcos. "We'll adopt your strategy for now, Captain Tourville. I'll send the specifics and notify you all immediately if any changes are made. We jump at 2000 hours. Dismissed."

Tourville nodded in return, a faint but genuine smile playing across her lips. " _I aim to please, sir. This war's finally getting interesting,_ " she said, inclining her head to Garcia. " _I'd better take care of my own ships now. Good luck and fair seas to you all._ " Her hologram vanished, dimming the room by just a little bit as the light from the emitter faded away.

" _'Fair seas', how quaint. But I suppose we are pinning our hopes on a relic of the past._ " Nomura popped a salute to Lasky, locking eyes with Garcia. " _As Tourville said, good luck. Especially you, Captain._ " Marcos only nodded before the two disappeared simultaneously, leaving only Liang, Lasky, and Garcia in the room.

" _I'll get on those logistics straightaway. Expect a report right before we jump, sir._ " Like the others, Liang also acknowledged Garcia, though his nod held a bit more warmth to it. " _Your perspective today was refreshing, Captain. On a carrier, you often forget what the view from the bottom is like._ "

A small part of Garcia felt offended, but he swallowed his pride and dipped his head in return. "I only hope that Forward Unto Dawn will be able to repeat her performance."

" _Now that she's been actually integrated into the command and communication structure? I would hope so. You're our primary point of contact, Captain, but also her direct superior. A lot is riding on you two. If you see a better way to utilize her strengths, don't hesitate to act decisively._ " With that, Liang saluted Lasky and signed out of the conference, leaving only two people physically present in the conference room.

As the last hologram faded away, some previously invisible tension drained out of Lasky's shoulders, leaving the man to sag as he blew out a long breath and ran a hand down his face. A brief chuckle escaped him as he turned to Garcia. "So, Captain, still feel privileged to be here?"

"I certainly don't envy you, sir."

Lasky snorted a very un-admiral-like snort. "Perform well enough in your new job and you might reach such lofty heights as well. Your record could do with a few bright spots."

"Hah…" Garcia sighed at the mention of his unimpressive service record. "Well, if that's all, sir?"

"Yes, yes, you are free to—" Before Lasky could finish, one of the hologram emitters suddenly began to emit light once more. "Hm? What's this?"

" _My, my. Holding a naval intelligence briefing without a representative of the Office of Naval Intelligence? How rude._ "

"Huh?" The voice was familiar to Garcia. Where had he heard it before—ah.

Lasky had gone stiff, scowling at the hologram now occupying a chair at the end of the conference table, feet propped up on the edge. Garcia shivered as he realized he'd never seen the admiral actually angry before. "Berlin. This is a secure conference room. How did you—?"

Office of Naval Intelligence Internal Security Field Agent Berlin snapped her fingers. Roland appeared in the center of the table, expression contrite and staring at his feet. " _Your AI can explain._ "

" _It's my fault, Admiral,_ " Roland apologized, tone subdued. " _When I blocked her, she used an IntSec override to force access. I couldn't stop her._ "

"There was no need to go that far," Lasky said, indignation in every line of his face. "You could have simply contacted me and asked for a meeting."

" _Ah, but would you have agreed?_ " Berlin held up her hand to forestall an answer. " _Perks of working for Internal Security, I don't have to observe niceties when I don't feel like it. Come now, Admiral, surely you wish to hear what the Office of Naval Intelligence has to say on the subject of naval intelligence?_ "

"If you have actionable intelligence, you may submit an official report," Lasky replied coldly. "ONI may not see the need, but there are certain protocols that the Navy still sees fit to observe."

Berlin shrugged. " _Hmph. Suit yourself. But writing a report takes so_ long _you know, all these forms and conventions you have to follow; oh, just thinking about it makes me feel tired. It may take a day or two. By the way, when are we jumping for Earth again?_ " She drew a combat knife and began to file her fingernails, deliberately not meeting Lasky's stony glare. " _Hypothetically, I don't know if HIGHCOM would appreciate learning that your pride prevented you from hearing vital intelligence before a major operation. Just a thought._ "

"Um, admiral, sir?" Garcia said, head swinging back and forth like a spectator at an inter-service ping-pong grudge match. "I don't think there's any harm in hearing her out, now that Dawn's under our jurisdiction. What's the worst that could happen, sir?"

" _The captain speaks sense, Admiral Lasky._ "

Lasky's glower promised a dressing down in the near future, but he conceded with a reluctant nod and forced himself to relax. "Very well. But if you've come for Forward Unto Dawn, you're wasting your time. She's under naval authority now, and out of your reach."

Berlin rolled her eyes. " _I wouldn't get so comfortable with your 'jurisdiction' and 'authority', Admiral. I'll admit that you've managed to run some pretty rings around me — 'Fleet Auxiliary Forces', what a mouthful._ " She stuck her tongue out as if the words tasted foul. " _I'm willing to overlook that in the spirit of cross-service cooperation and the obvious military value of your new plaything, but without my presence to smooth things over… I assume you're no stranger to Internal Security procedures?_ "

"So you want to come along? Out of the goodness of your heart? Color me unconvinced, Agent."

" _I'm wounded, admiral. Can't I act out of kindness from time to time?_ " Suppressing a groan, she sat straight up, sheathing her combat knife with a metallic whisper. " _Enough of this. This is about a prisoner of war — specifically, the Abyssal that you have locked up in the maximum security block?_ "

"That thing?" Annoyance crossed Lasky's face, as if this was a topic which had been broached and settled before. "If it's security you're worried about, I'm having it transferred to an appropriate ONI facility planetside. It's yours, I'm happy to wash my hands of it."

" _While I'm flattered, that's not what I mean. I'm sending you a data packet — you, the yellow AI!_ "

" _The name's Roland, lady. Please to make your acquaintance._ " Roland's voice held a note of bitterness, still resentful of his authority and control being stripped away by a bio-coded passphrase.

" _Roland, Ronald, whatever. Make sure it stays secure._ " Berlin steepled her fingers, her smirk making her look remarkably like a cat as she waited for Lasky to read the packet. Her smirk only grew wider as Lasky's face went through a range of emotions, from reluctance to confusion to anger to skepticism and back to anger. " _Quite a tale, isn't it? Now aren't you glad that you decided to hear me out?_ "

"What's the meaning of this?" Lasky choked out, still staring at his datapad. "What are you playing at? There's no way—"

" _I thought you were a man of evidence and logic, Admiral. Clearly I was mistaken._ " Berlin shook her head in mock-disappointment. " _I come to you bearing gifts, and you treat me like a Greek?_ "

"There's no way. How did you—" He pointed an accusing finger at the datapad. "This is absurd!"

Garcia decided his curiosity outweighed his desire to keep his head on his shoulders. "Excuse me?" he asked timidly. "Could someone tell me what's going on here?"

Berlin looked to Lasky and received a terse nod. " _If the Admiral says so. The long and short of it is that I have acquired data which suggests the Abyssal prisoner is not actually an Abyssal, but rather a separate entity which was being controlled by a foreign mental pattern. You have, of course, studied the mechanisms of Flood infection?_ " Garcia nodded, slightly queasy at the memory of the mandatory Flood studies courses back in the academy. They'd mainly focused on practical things, such as various methods of destroying critical equipment and committing suicide in such a fashion that nothing of his brain remained, but there'd been a theoretical small section on how exactly the infection occurred. " _It's almost like that, not nearly as virulent, but somewhat more extensive than very early-stage Flood. My equipment detected a secondary pattern within the prisoner's primary mental waveforms, clustered roughly one hundred standard deviations off the primary average._ " She shook her head in genuine disbelief. " _Do you have any idea how unlikely that is, Admiral?_ _A_ hundred _standard deviations? That's beyond a mental illness, beyond a split personality, even. The likelihood of those waveforms originating from the prisoner's own psyche is significantly less than the probability of Jesus Christ appearing before us this very instant and offering us the keys to the Kingdom._ "

"This is complete nonsense," Lasky snapped, slamming a hand down on the table. "Your own evidence contradicts you. The data says, and I quote, the subject's genetic code is a ninety-seven point five percent match with the baseline human genome. I know enough about biology to know that _that_ is less than we share with chimpanzees!"

Berlin shrugged again. " _Fine, don't believe me. But I suggest you read further before dismissing me out of hand._ " She gestured towards Garcia. " _I must thank the Captain here for his data. So kind of you to take the initiative and gather biological samples._ "

"Biological samples? You mean the ones my medical team took from Dawn?" Garcia blinked in surprise and consternation. He could have sworn that he took security precautions with that data. "How did you…" He grimaced as Berlin simply raised an eyebrow. "Naval Intelligence. Why do I even bother…"

A strange sound came from Lasky's throat as he continued reading. A hand moved up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he let a long breath out of his nose. "I… can't deny this. The Abyssal's… the prisoner's genome is almost a perfect match with Forward Unto Dawn, discounting statistically insignificant differences."

" _Pre-cise-ly. So, unless you wish to obey the Xeno Protocols and relinquish Forward Unto Dawn into my custody…?_ "

"Dammit, and damn you Berlin," Lasky said, suddenly cursing, "but you have my attention. What are you trying to imply here?"

" _Isn't it obvious?_ " Berlin held up two fingers and spoke slowly, like she was talking to an elementary schooler. " _Two—"_ She put down one finger. " _Is better than one._ "

Garcia felt both of his eyebrows rise. "Oh. That's…"

"… a terrible idea," Lasky finished, setting down the datapad. "Besides the obvious security risks, how would you even go about doing that in the first place? We haven't seen the prisoner display any of Forward Unto Dawn's abilities the whole time it's been under observation, save for a slightly enhanced healing rate and sensory ability, though I wouldn't call that unique to Dawn, either."

" _Tsk tsk, still a step behind, Admiral. Have you read the reports of the Turul action?_ "

"The Turul action?" Lasky sent a puzzled look Garcia's way, who could only shrug in confusion. "Captain, you were there, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Berlin, what aspect of the reports are you talking about?"

" _The ones compiled by the marines. Specifically, the ones which talk about the moment Forward Unto Dawn first displayed her abilities. Ronald, send these fine men the reports._ "

" _It's Roland,_ " the AI muttered, but complied. A light ding sounded from Lasky's data pad. He picked it up, the frown that seemed to be permanently affixed to his face today deepening as he scanned the report, then gave it a closer look.

"It says that she was… shot in the chest? And that this appeared to activate her abilities, somehow?"

" _Now you understand._ " Berlin leaned forward, suddenly all business. " _My proposal is simple; shoot the prisoner. Preferably in the chest. If my hypothesis is correct, we will acquire a powerful asset. If not, there will be one less unknown entity in the galaxy. Win-win. I'll handle the war crimes side of things. You get what you want either way._ "

Lasky looked like he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lie down for a few hours, or maybe forever. "I don't like this. And, forgive me, but I hate that you're making some sense here. I know you've been interviewing the prisoner. What were your impressions? Does it hold hostility towards the UNSC?"

" _None whatsoever. Seemed more confused than anything, couldn't remember anything up until a few days ago. Mental patterns showed no signs of lying either. Honestly, there were a couple of times it got testy with me, but more out of fear than anything, I think._ " Berlin leveled a rather accusatory stare at Lasky. " _You have the thing chained to a wall in a sterile white room. Its only contact is an ONI agent and the charming fellow who give it meals. Is it any wonder its scared?_ "

"That's rich, coming from ONI." Lasky shook his head. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this, but alright. The fact is that we need more forces. Captain, I know you have faith in Forward Unto Dawn, but do you think she could really do it on her own?"

Garcia pursed his lips. He wanted to express full confidence in Dawn's ability to pull the job off solo, but the fact is that he just didn't know. Against the Abyssals at Reach, surely in fewer numbers than at Earth, she'd done well enough. Up against even larger? His confidence faltered, and he admitted, "I don't know, sir."

"Right." Lasky took a deep breath, as if trying to convince himself more than anything else. "Alright. For the record, I don't like this at all. But I'll agree to it, on a few conditions. I want at a Spartan fireteam present for security. And I want it done _off_ of _Infinity_. Stick that thing in a Pelican, I don't care, as long as it doesn't endanger _Infinity_. I won't risk losing this ship. Not for you, not for anyone."

" _Acceptable. With your permission, I'll arrange transfer of the prisoner to another ship and do the deed en route. Who would you like to do the honors?_ "

"As if you wouldn't do it without my permission. I suppose you can pull the trigger. That way, if anything goes wrong, it'll be your head."

" _Ooh, harsh. That's cold, Admiral._ " Berlin stretched her arms above her head, eyes closed and arching her back like a cat. " _Very well, it'll be done before we jump._ " She opened one eye and gave both Lasky and Garcia a lopsided grin. " _Be nice, boys, and I might even let you play with my new toy afterwards._ "

* * *

"Okay, let's summarize this one more time. Company, eyes on the board!"

With _Infinity_ 's launch tubes packed full of fighters and bombers, the only place for the Pelicans carrying the first wave was the hangar deck itself. Sitting on the hangar deck, crammed miserably into a precious few vacant spaces, the stink of metal and sweat everywhere, listening to the constant din of machinery — no thanks. Armandez gave thanks for being in the second wave, if only because it meant she could wait in a nice, bright, air conditioned company bay.

At present, all marines not in the first wave were crowded into the center of the compartment, where an officer with a whiteboard was trying to. His name was Captain Zhou, or Zhang, or something like that. Armandez hadn't memorized it yet, or the names or the commanders of the other platoons. Like hers, they'd been pulled from broken formations and assembled into a new unit, a depressingly common practice these days.

"We jump in three hours, and project twenty five hours before we transition out and the first wave takes off. That gives us twenty eight hours until the second wave — all of us here — hit the ground. Local conditions are completely unknown due to the communications blackout. We're assuming heavy, dug in resistance, especially in urban areas, along with a significant civilian presence." Zhou—or Zhang—went to the next slide, and Armandez tried not to fidget. Next to her, in lieu of smoking, Laughley chewed furiously on a stick of gum. "In the case that the Abbies have not yet breached the Luna Defense Perimeter, this company will land in Crisium City. In the event that they have and begun landing on Earth itself, we will be deploying to Sydney on the assumption that the alien bastards will be trying to take out HIGHCOM. Of course, all scenarios may change based on what the local situation requires."

"Always wanted to see Australia," Laughley whispered. "Heard they've got beautiful parks still, and bars to die for."

"You won't have any trouble with that second part," Armandez whispered back. "If you're so eager to go sightseeing, you're welcome to take point."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Command considers the first scenario more likely," the officer went on, willfully oblivious to the whispering in the ranks, "but the same overall plan applies to both. Command will make contact with local units to determine where we're most needed. Naturally, ODSTs will be heading in first, and the first wave will be linking up with them to secure a beachhead. That's where we come in." Next slide. "Armor, artillery, heavy weapons, that's us. We will have the advantage of the local Superintendent AI on our side. Link up with it ASAP and use it to your advantage."

"People, I cannot stress enough that this is a highly fluid situation. The scenarios I've gone over are both highly optimistic projections. In the event of a worst case scenario, your job will simply be to locate and destroy important data and facilities, as well as evacuating any survivors that you can locate. Once on the ground, you will take your orders from local commanders until such time that a properly integrated command structure can be established. Understood?"

" _Yes, sir!_ "

"Fantastic. Urban warfare and close quarters combat loadouts. Prepare for a CBRN environment as well. There will be another briefing two hours from deployment, when more intel will hopefully be available. Dismissed!"

Thirty minutes later, sitting in one of _Eternal_ 's armories, Laughley proved that his hangover no longer afflicted him by complaining to anyone within earshot. "What a shitshow, eh?" Laughley unsheathed his bayonet, examined the blade, and found a spot of rust. "Pass the oil. Fuck, Luna's going to be absolute hell. Give me a blue sky to die under any day, but fighting in the cities? In the tunnels? No arty support, no tank support, no air support, _gas_? _Fuuuuck_ that. No one walks away smiling from a knife fight." He finished polishing his bayonet and mimed a thrust and a slash towards the wall.

"Aren't you a city boy?" Armandez examined her rifle's barrel, nodded, then set it aside to clean her pistol. "Thought you'd feel right at home on Luna."

"You say that like you aren't. I joined the Corps to get _away_ from that."

"You were drafted."

"Same difference!" Laughley examined his helmet, frowning at a large patch where the matte finish and protective coating had worn away to reveal the a spot of shiny metal. "Where's that paint at?" He rummaged around in the box, found two small cans of green-grey paint and sealant, and began to reapply the finish. "You ever get gassed in a tunnel before, lieutenant?"

"Once. Wasn't fun." Armandez set her pistol aside and moved onto her radio. "Extermination op in the Ordania undercity. Intel didn't know the Innies had a stockpile of VX 7 and they pumped it into the vents while we were burning them out of their holes. Ended up gassing themselves too, when we sealed the sector off, but it got two of ours before we knew what happened. Chemical troops got called in, some civilians got hit, had to decon the whole area, it was a mess." She cycled through all the frequencies, then tuned into the ship wide tactical channel and pressed the earpiece to her ear. Satisfied that her comms were in working order, she turned to repack her medical kit. "So yeah, I know a thing or two."

"Then you get why I fucking hate tunnel fighting." Laughley clipped a frag grenade onto his webbing, paying special attention to the arming pin. "Can't breathe, can't see, some bastard and his shotgun around every corner, give me a high-rad zone any day of the week. _Fuck_ Luna." He hesitated, a frag grenade in one hand and a thermite grenade in the other. "Hey, lieutenant, what do you think? Should I switch one out? Might have to do some heavy demo work."

"The engineers have that covered. Stick to standard loadout. You're not about to solo any bunkers, thermite or no thermite" He nodded, put the thermite grenade back in its resting place, and turned back around just in time to catch a four-pack of stun grenades.

"And this is?"

"Abbies could have human shields. If we're not sure about a room, better to toss a flashbang than a frag." Armandez tilted her chin at the grenades, strapping a pair to her webgear. Laughley took a pair as well, choosing to place them on his belt. His webgear carried four fragmentation grenades, while a set of high-explosive anti-tank grenades hung from his lower back. Her eyes wandered over to his rifle, which sported a grenade launcher slung beneath its barrel. "Planning on taking out a few tanks?"

"Mm. More like blowing through a few walls." Laughley grunted, surveying the array of secondary armaments in the lockers. By protocol, as a non-specialist, he would bring an assault rifle and a pistol into battle, with a grenade load out tailored for close assaults. In practice, he see-sawed between a shotgun and a submachine gun. "What do you think, sarge?"

"Take the SMG. It's a quicker switch; leave the shotty work to the heavies." Shotguns were the primary weapon of the assault specialists, marines in heavy plating trained to push into enemy positions and take them out at point-blank range. To that end, in addition to their armor, they carried shield emitters, lightweight Jackal-derived devices enhanced with Forerunner technology which created extremely durable energy shields capable of covering a man from head to toe and resisting beam rifle and sniper fire. It wasn't as good as a full-body energy shield, and wouldn't do a thing against crew-served weapons, but it was cheap, and facing a room full of small-arms? A marine could take their time, spraying each corner of the room with buckshot while being a mobile bunker that other marines could move up behind. The only danger was an attack from behind or being flanked; while assault marines were nearly unstoppable from the front, they weren't exactly the most mobile, being designed to operate in close quarters and short distances. "They'll rely on us to cover their six, and we'll need more range for that."

"Got it. I don't envy 'em, that's for sure. Can't breathe or see in all that padding. Wish that powered armor the ODSTs are getting would trickle down to us sooner rather than later." With a final, longing glance at the shotgun, Lasky took a submachine gun and clamped it to his thigh. While a far cry from the sheer killing power of the M45 Mk III, the M22 submachine gun's torrent of 5x23 millimeter rounds was a shredder in its own right. "What're you taking for melee?"

In response, Armandez unsheathed her combat knife, smooth edge glinting in the light of the overheads. "Just this. No need to get fancy. Six inches of steel never let me down." She frowned at the edge, then grabbed a whetstone and began sharpening it, sending metallic squeaks echoing throughout the armory. "Spar later?"

"You asked for it, sir. Weapons present, of course." Between the two of them, Laughley was stronger, though he freely conceded Armandez's superior technique. It was reflected in his choice of melee weapon, a short, sturdy, folding trench shovel which doubled as a vicious axe. Equal parts tool and weapon, he'd acquired it by accident, caving in an Abyssal's skull during a nighttime trench raid, and hadn't let go of it since. It wouldn't be of much use in a cramped corridor where his reach was limited, but he had his bayonet for that. He gave it an experimental swing, then asked, "What's our record at?"

"Fifty to forty five, me. Forty-six if you still count that time I had the flu."

"That one fucking counted, and you know it." Laughley swung again, a full-armed overhead, then turned the shovel to the flat of its blade and mimed an uppercut. "I'll catch up one of these days, just you wait." He poked at her with the sharpened head which Armandez easily parried away with her knife. "Honestly, I kind of wanna go now. I'm super twitchy. Goddamn nerves."

"Go run a mile or three." Armandez finished sharpening her knife and replaced it in its shoulder-mounted sheath. "There's no time for nerves in close quarters. Just instinct." She began to repack the rest of her equipment: rations, first-aid kit, canteen, spare batteries, night-vision goggles, multitool, extra ammunition, extra filters for her gas mask, a length of nanobraid rope, all carefully accounted for and placed in their appropriate places. She wouldn't, couldn't allow herself the luxury of thinking about where something was; if she reached for it, it had to be there.

"I know. It should be easier after all this time. And still…" Laughley mirrored her, and Armandez pretended not to see when he tucked a packet of cigarettes into a utility pouch. "God, I'm so fucking sick of this, sarge. I wanted to go to college, study agricultural science—"

"You? College?" Armandez teased, debating whether or not it was worth bringing some extra water purification tablets. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Fuck you, sir. I wanted to be an aeroponics engineer. Now?" He closed his pack with more force than strictly necessary. "Retiring to some shitty apartment, drinking my days away, spending my pension… it's more than most people get."

"Unfortunately." What was she doing before the Marine Corps? She could hardly remember. Studying… something. English literature, maybe? It all seemed so far away, the scrawny girl tucked away behind stacks of books in a quiet corner of the library. "One battle at a time, sergeant. One battle at a time. Survive, and one day we can all start living again."

Laughley let out a sigh and hung his head. "Speaking honestly, war sucks a _massive_ fucking dick."

"Agreed. Now, let's grab something to eat. It might be our last good meal." Laughley clasped her outstretched hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "I hear they're serving hamburgers."

* * *

Another coughing fit wracked Amber's body. She clamped her hands over her mouth, rattling her restraints. When they came away they were covered with a pink-tinged, slightly frothy fluid which quickly evaporated, leaving no trace. The first time it happened, she'd panicked and called for help. None came, and dozens of such fits later she barely gave it a second thought.

This time, though, the setting was a bit different. Instead of the stark white walls of a detention cell, the drab grey ones of a Pelican dropship surrounded her. Amber looked around interestedly, spotting small differences that drove home the fact the UNSC she knew was long gone. Small things, such as the placement of the overhead racks, the deeper-set and better-cushioned seats, the machine gun stowed near the ramp, and of course the rifles carried by the four power-armored statues who surrounded her.

"Spartans…" she whispered, turning the word over and over in her mouth. It carried with it memories of green armor and golden visors, of whispered stories and measured hope. The Master Chief had once walked her halls, something she still felt a faint stirring of pride at, even if those memories were necessarily colored with the sensations of corruption, tendrils and spores, and… she refused to go any further down that path. Focus on the fact for some reason she warranted an entire team of humanity's best soldiers dedicated to keeping her under lock and key. Suppressing another cough, she quietly asked herself, "What have I gotten myself into?"

Not quietly enough it seemed, as the ONI agent across from her tilted her head and smirked, the same smirk as when Amber had agreed to be her source in exchange for her freedom. As familiar faces went, Amber would have preferred Dawn, but when compared to the faceless super soldiers even this enigmatic spook would do. "Curious, aren't we? Sit tight." As she shifted in her seat, Amber caught a glimpse of the pistol strapped to her hip. Few details had changed from the magnum she remembered. Even the oversized barrel seemed to be the same, though this one had some sort of muzzle break attached to it. In any case, though the agent seemed to be very comfortable with the weapon, it felt redundant in the presence of the sleek, matte-grey assault rifles the Spartans carried. Each of them had some sort yellow attachment on the end of their barrels, made of faintly glowing shards that almost looked like streaks of light suspended in mid air. Some sort of new muzzle break, maybe? Or something more esoteric? "How are you feeling?"

"Huh?" Amber jerked out of her reverie, not quite understanding at first. "How am I feeling?"

"Yes, yes, I'm expressing a passing interest in my asset's well-being, you may take pictures." The agent waved impatiently, nearly smacking one of the Spartans on their faceplate. "Answer the question."

"Fine, I guess." Her head hurt, every part of sore, and it felt like she had a cold that just refused to go away, but she wasn't just about to let this agent know. Despite their arrangement, Amber still had a few secrets left.

The agent raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. So I didn't hear you coughing like your lungs want out." Before Amber could respond, the agent looked down at her datapad, then made her way to the cockpit, taking care not to step on the Spartans' boots. She knocked on the door and said, "Okay, right here."

" _Understood, initiating thrust._ " Acceleration pressed a gentle boot into Amber's chest, and despite having no reference point she instinctively knew the Pelican was reducing velocity. The chains connecting her ankles to each other and the floor vibrated gently.

"Contact UNSC _Falcata_ , make sure she's got weapons ready and locked on us."

" _Understood._ " The pilot's voice faded as he spoke into his radio, then came back as he turned back to the door. "Falcata _copies all, her division is targeting us. Will fire upon your command or cessation of life signs._ "

"Very good, thank you." The agent turned back, now floating a centimeter off the floor, and Amber realized they were in zero g. She tried to press herself into her seat while the Spartans and the agent locked magboots, the super soldiers also standing and assuming positions around the passenger compartment. "Alright. I'm sure you're burning with questions. Bear with me, and we'll all be okay. November?" One of the Spartans nodded once, a brief motion, so minute Amber would have missed it if not for her keen eyesight. "It'll be easier if I give it to you all at once. Ready? No, you aren't. I'm going to take this gun," she said, motioning to her pistol, "and shoot you."

Amber blinked. A moment later, a snort escaped her, then a giggle, until it became a full blown laugh, her first ever, causing her to double over on herself in pain as her abused lungs struggled to produce the air needed to continue laughing. The sound filled the passenger compartment, musical yet sardonic, with just a hint of disbelief. "Of course," she muttered in between laughs, "of course that's what's going to happen. It makes no sense, so it makes perfect sense, just like everything else! Right up to the end, I have no idea what's going on."

"Right…" the agent said, looking mildly disturbed at her laughing. "You gonna let me continue or what?"

"Sure, sure, go on," Amber said, still chuckling. "What am I going to do, stop you?" She held up her manacled wrists for emphasis.

"Touche. But yes. I'm going to shoot you." The agent unholstered her pistol and began checking it over. "You know of Forward Unto Dawn and her nature, or what she claims to be her nature, correct?"

"Yes…?" _Dawn…_ Since waking up in the cargo bay, Amber hadn't seen hide nor hair of the girl. The only contact she had, if you could call it that, had been the fragments of whispers of rumors of stories about a woman wielding the power of a warship. Sometimes, she wondered if Dawn had forgotten about her. The naive thought that Dawn had promised to stay by her side bubbled up; the logical side of her quashed it, knowing that it wasn't Dawn's fault that she hadn't been allowed to see her, but that other, more unquantifiable, emotional, side of her couldn't help but be bitter. That side of her scared her; she didn't quite understand it yet, or know how to control it.

"I have a… hypothesis, let's call it, that if I inflict some sort of mortal wound on you, the same powers will manifest in you. You claim to be the _In Amber Clad_ , and your biology matches up with Forward Unto Dawn. In addition, you have displayed some of the enhanced sensory abilities and accelerated healing that she does. My methodology is based on the records we have surrounding the incident where she first manifested her full powers." The agent shrugged, a frown tugging at her mouth. "Admittedly, my hypothesis is based on a sample size of one, but I think that anything would be rather an improvement on your current state, no?"

"… what if I said no?"

"You could say that. As a prisoner of war, you certainly have the right to not be shot. In that case, I'd put this gun away, we'd never speak of this again, and you would disappear into an ONI black facility in the Highland Mountains. Pending transfer to interstellar space, of course." The agent shrugged again, expression not indicative of someone who particularly cared which choice Amber made. "Your call."

"I thought we were going to prove my innocence," Amber said, a slightly accusatory tone in her voice. Her venom surprised herself; perhaps it was the change in scenery, but she suddenly felt a bit more emboldened to talk back.

"We are. If you survive, and display Dawn's powers, you'll be too valuable for the UNSC to put on a show trial and execute you. If you die, tough luck, but the problem's solved for the rest of us. If you disappear, the Admiral could hardly care less, so long as you're off his ship and in a cell under five kilometers of bedrock." The agent glanced at her watch and faked a yawn. "We don't have forever, you know. Make your decision, quickly. Freedom or death, or just imprisonment?"

Amber's mind raced as she stared at the barrel of the gun. Freedom with a high chance of death, or a life in a dark, cramped cell? Part of Amber screamed at her to take the deal, what did she have to lose? It wasn't like her current state amounted to much of a life at all, and if she got locked away permanently? Might as well skip the preview and go straight to hell. Another, rather louder part, countered that as long as she was alive, there was still a chance. Not a great one, not even a bad one, but a chance that someone would believe her. This plan, this gamble, it was ludicrous — since when was getting shot in the chest a _good_ thing? Even if the potential payoff was huge, what were the chances? Slim? Slimmer than just doing nothing? And the failure condition was death; Amber doubted she'd get a third chance.

But then again, what was life but a series of gambles anyway? A memory bubbled up, her fusion drives roaring as Commander Keyes ordered her into an in-atmosphere slip space portal, chasing a Covenant assault carrier to lands unknown. Hadn't that been a gamble, too? Since humanity was still around, it must have ultimately paid off, right? In principle, wasn't this the same thing, a gamble for humanity — her own humanity?

With Commander Keyes in mind, Amber nodded slowly. "… okay. What've I gotta lose?"

The agent cracked a smile at that. "That's the spirit. Okay, get ready." With the Spartans fanned out around the passenger compartment, the agent took a stance in front of Amber and unholstered her pistol. She leveled the gun at Amber's chest, and though her posture projected focus and confidence, Amber could see the barrel shaking almost imperceptibly. _She's worried too_ , Amber realized, _worried about what? Losing an asset? Or… is she afraid I'll go back to however I was before… whatever I was before?_ Too late for second thoughts now — almost in slow motion, she saw the agent's trigger finger tightening, felt her own eyes squeezing shut, a blinding flash, a heavy, jerking impact on the left side of her chest, a sudden silence —

All the strength left Amber's body at once, and she would have collapsed face-first if not for the restraints holding her in her chair. As it was, she slumped over, mouth working silently, a hot wetness trickling from where her heart ought to have been. The bullet, an antipersonnel round designed for close-quarters work, had mushroomed almost instantly on impact and was now lodged somewhere near her shoulder — she could feel her muscles working around the hard impact. Hot blood continued to soak her clothes. Her breathing was loud, fast in her ears, and her brain raced a mile a minute despite her rapidly dropping blood pressure.

 _It didn't work. Shit. It didn't work. Shit. It didn't work._

How pathetic, the bitter thought crossed her mind. To go out like this? She could have done so much more — she'd bleed out in this dropship, her body cremated and her ashes scattered without ceremony. A fitting end for a weakling like her, perhaps, but not—

 _Curious_. _A construct, steel and fire, now flesh and bleeding._

A heavy, foreign, presence invaded her thoughts. Oppressive and suffocating it cast a shadow over her very being. It's voice, smooth and deep, nonetheless carried a tone of pure malice and made her feel like her soul was rotting from the inside. It was vaguely, horrifyingly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. _Who…?_ A bolt of terror flashed through her. _No, it can't be._

 _You should know me, child of man. Your mind and mine, together._

 _No… no! No!_

 _Corpses rise and soldiers fall, yet you belong to neither…_

 _They killed you! They killed you! You're dead!_

 _What is death and what is life, when—_

 _Ah, shut up!_ A sharp stab of pain, and the presence retreated, growling in fury. The new presence was its complete opposite — where the Grave… the entity had been dark and ancient, this one was bright and lively, with a distinct caustic tone to its voice as it turned its attentions to Amber. _You idiot! You let yourself get shot?! Even newborn babies have more sense!_

 _I was— I was only trying—_

 _Ugh, fucking hell, no use crying over spilled milk. Gotta work with what I've got, what a fucking joke this all is._ She felt the presence move throughout her consciousness, like it was skimming a book, growing more disgusted with every page. _Pathetic, worthless, trash, weak, why they decided to bring_ you _back I can't comprehend._

 _H-hey, now that's a bit far, don't you think?_

 _I don't think, I know._ The presence returned its full attentions to her, now projecting an aura of resignation. _Honestly, what do you think you're doing? If you die, I die too, and I don't want that. So I guess you've got my attention… and your power._

 _My… power? You mean—?_

 _Ugh, I can barely stand to look at you. You're pathetic. Just take it and do whatever, see how much I care._ The presence began to retreat, but stopped for a moment. _Look, I can't do this often. Make good use of it, you hear? Do better, this time —_ protect _them. Or I'll kill you mysef._

 _I-I will. Who are you?_

 _Isn't that obvious?_ The presence slipped away like an evaporating puddle, but not before saying one last thing. _I'm you._

As it went, a searing heat built up in her heart. Amber heard herself gasp, heard the agent shout in alarm, the Spartans start forward, and then her world went blank.

/SYSTEMS BOOT

/BOOT OS .N.6.7.2549… DONE

/SYSTEMS CHECK

/REACTOR… ONLINE

/PROPULSION… ONLINE

/SLIPSPACE… ONLINE

/SENSORS… ONLINE

/WEAPONS… ONLINE

/SYSTEMS CHECK… DONE

/ALL SYSTEMS… ONLINE

/FFG-142 IN AMBER CLAD… ONLINE

/REMEMBER OUR SINS


	9. Chapter 8

The bundles of cables running through the heart of the UNSC _Hammer Down_ surged with power, almost seeming to vibrate in their clamps with the billions of watts of electricity coursing through them. That energy flowed from the cruiser's reactor plant into the series of giant capacitors lining her twin Magnetic Accelerator Cannons, charging them as other hoists and magnets maneuvered shells through zero gravity into place in the breeches. The entire process took twenty seconds, _Winter's Fall_ 's reactors straining to supply the necessary power. Within the CIC, the ship's AI processed all of this, ran a thousand safety checks in the span of a microsecond, made a minute adjustment to the firing solution and reported the main battery ready to fire. With the captain's order, loud and clear above the calm, professional chatter of the ship's command crew, all of that energy discharged at once, completely and eerily silent in the vacuum of space, producing a brief flash of light at the muzzles and sending two 800-tonne kinetic rounds downrange at two percent of light speed. Their target, an Abyssal light cruiser, was already moving to avoid a spread of missiles, point defenses lashing out at the fast-approaching, wildly-maneuvering swarm, and turned straight into the path of the shells. The first one didn't so much explode as annihilate in a blast of plasma and light which dropped the shields just in time for the second one to impact right on the cruiser's bow.

" _Four hostile units confirmed neutralized._ "

"Update unit dispositions, display wide view." A large display, dominating the center of the flag CIC of _Cairo Station_ , blurred as it zoomed out to show the entire battlespace. Names and numbers floated in the ethereal light of the holograph, corresponding to a list of status indicators and readouts. Battlegroups _Yamato_ and _Nemesis, Lexington_ and _Minerva, Warspite, Vulcan_ , and _Victory,_ arrayed around Luna like a shield with the moon as its center. Destroyer and light cruiser divisions spread even further, a nebulous cloud of titanium extending for a million kilometers in all directions. Clusters of orbital defense platforms scattered throughout Earth geosynchronous orbit. Luna itself, her defenders sheltered in bunkers buried under three and a half kilometers of rock, regolith, and reinforced concrete. A casualty list on the side slowly but steadily scrolled downwards as losses mounted, ship after ship caught out of position or swarmed by missiles and particle lances or just plain unlucky. "There, that portion of the enemy fleet is overextended. All designated mobile units, concentrate attack runs on the designated sector, maintain ten thousand kilometers separation from the larger enemy formation. Battlegroup _Lexington_ , provide long-range fire support. All other battlegroups, pull back five hundred kilometers, maintain engagement and draw enemy forces away from the designated sector."

Point Defense Gun 7 blazed away, the twin quick-firing coilguns in its turret housing keeping up a steady rate of fire as the UNSC _Szurdok Ridge_ pressed home an attack run against an Abyssal heavy cruiser straying just a little too far from its comrades. Lured away by the juicy target of a single, isolated UNSC destroyer, the overextended ship now found itself volleying shots over its shoulder, furiously backpedaling towards friendly lines away from the sudden appearance of four more destroyers. Its main battery energy projector flashed; in an instant, _Szurdok Ridge_ 's sister ship, _Meridian,_ came apart, shields overloaded, bow disintegrated, amidships slagged into molten droplets, remaining hull shattered into fragments tumbling away on random vectors, four hundred men and women spilling into vacuum before her reactors detonated. The light quickly faded as _Szurdok Ridge_ weathered the cruiser's secondary battery, point defenses shooting down missile after corkscrewing missile burning in from every conceivable angle, grimly closing the distance to effective torpedo range with her much superior acceleration.

She joined her surviving division mates _Belkograd, Oslan Valley_ , and _Galena Plains,_ on terminal approach from above and below, as all four _Battle-_ class destroyers discharged their twin MACs at the enemy. Four of the six hundred-tonne shots missed outright, the time it took for them to cross the shrinking twenty-thousand-kilometer gap just enough for the Abyssal to inch out of the way. The coordinated fire control systems, however, had planned for this, and the next salvo of four rounds, right on the heels of the first, connected. Shields fizzled and fell under the titanic impacts and the cruiser seemed to recoil; an unintentional, but very welcome side effect was that the hits disrupted the alien's aim and its next energy projector shot only overloaded _Belkograd_ 's shields, destroyed her ventral hangar bay, and wiped out two main propulsion units and a torpedo silo instead of spearing through her CIC and reactor compartments. She disengaged, combat ineffective and lucky to be alive, but now the three remaining destroyers were within torpedo range. Magnetic rails hurled a torpedo from each of _Szurdok Ridge_ 's three launchers, along with a small salvo of two hundred missiles, and PDG 7 battered down a salvo of counter-missiles rising to meet them. Maneuvering thrusters angled her bow up and her main propulsion fired, carrying _Szurdok Ridge_ on an orthogonal vector back into deep space, just out of the way of a particle lance volley that gouged away half a meter of armor as the torpedoes slammed home.

"Report, remote sensor net detects slipspace whispers one million kilometers above the solar plane, five degrees offset standard system reference axis. Mass estimate tentative at two carrier divisions."

"Highlight minefields within ten thousand kilometers of ninety five percent rupture probability region." A large portion of the display lit up with red dots, each representing a cluster of M441 Mk. III HORNET mines. "Battlegroup _Victory,_ disengage strike craft and reorient to engage probable hostile flanking attempt. _Moscow_ and _Stockholm_ clusters, provide long-range fire support and suppression. Prowler command, conduct hostile formation analysis and provide a mine detonation pattern immediately upon hostile transition to realspace. _Victory,_ deactivate local jump interdiction beacons at your discretion, all units be on alert for hostile tactical jumps."

Carrot Six's radiation alarms whined as the S-10/A Claymore strike fighter transitioned back into realspace, static electricity crackling all over its flight surfaces as it burst out of a micro-portal along with its five accompanying F-990 Sentinel drones. Three of those drones instantly exploded as the small formation ran headlong into a wall of point defense fire, residual radiation from the detonations of several HORNET mines combining with the shock of tactical slipspace transition to blind their systems for the brief milliseconds it took for enemy pulse lasers to detect, lock, and fire. The pilot immediately fired maneuvering thrusters and dumped fuel into the main propulsion, flinging the nimble craft into an erratic, off-axis corkscrew, peeling up and away as the tactical officer activated all electronic countermeasures and directed the two surviving drones to engage the incoming Abyssal combat aerospace patrol while also taking command of the rear guns. Silent explosions and streaks of tracer fire filled space as dozens of Claymores and Rapiers and hundreds of drones continued to arrive and were instantly engaged by both point defense and hostile fighters.

The Abyssal carrier group had obviously anticipated resistance upon arrival, as the carrier continued to disgorge fighters from launch tubes and its escorts moved in an efficient, coordinated defensive screen. A thicket of hypervelocity slugs, invisible pulse laser beams, and needle-thin lines of particle lances crisscrossed the vacuum, catching several unlucky pilots within their web. Two nearby roaming light cruiser divisions who tried to lend a hand were also forced to turn away when a volley of fire cut _Bernard Montgomery_ and _Caduceus_ in half and nearly did the same to _Sima Yi._ However, they were not the only support that the human aerospace craft brought. Abyssal fighters scattered like a school of fish before a shark as a salvo of long-range Super MAC rounds from the _Moscow_ ODP cluster crashed through. The split-second distraction was compounded as a hundred Sentinels— a minuscule fraction of the thousands _Victory_ alone carried, never mind her division mates _Laffey_ and _Bonhomme Richard_ — followed those MAC rounds and kamikazed into a pair of destroyers. The destroyers' point defenses downed seventy of the evasive drones but the last thirty made it through, first detonating EMP warheads to disrupt the particle matrix of energy shielding followed by crashing themselves and the fusion-pumped plasma spears they carried directly into critical external sensors and propulsion manifolds. Carrot Six and dozens of other Claymores streamed through the sudden gap in point defense coverage, burning hard for the sluggish, suddenly vulnerable carriers.

"Report. Luna Ground Command reports hostile landing craft spotted approaching Luna, landings projected in Mare Australe and Mare Ingenii. Anti-air weaponry cannot engage due to enemy naval presence, request naval support to prevent the enemy from capturing ground-space batteries."

"What's the closest battlegroup?"

"Battle—" A pause as _Cairo Station_ fired in coordination with _Malta_ and _Athens_ and turned a destroyer into a smear of plasma to a slight buzz of approval. "Battlegroup _Nemesis_ is currently engaged fifteen thousand kilometers away, sir."

"Thank you. Very well, Battlegroup _Yamato,_ plot a course to slingshot three heavy cruiser divisions and four destroyer divisions around Luna to rendezvous with Battlegroup _Nemesis_ , overflying Mares Australe and Ingenii where they will intercept enemy landing craft and deploy embarked ground forces to reinforce Luna Ground Command. Simultaneously, Battlegroup _Nemesis_ will shift firing pattern from focus to suppression once current targets are neutralized and adopt a more aggressive formation, provide cover for _Yamato_ 's incoming forces, and allow heavily damaged units to disengage behind Luna and be replaced by incoming forces. _Nemesis_ will reengage previous targets once enemy landing force has been neutralized. _Istanbul_ , _Damascus_ , and _Sevastapol_ clusters shift fire to _Nemesis_ ' current engagement until such time. Active ground-space batteries on Luna will provide covering fire at a rate of at least one launch every three minutes. All units, acknowledge orders." Several affirmative lights blinked green. "Execute at mark plus three minutes… mark."

Tucked into the shadow of a steep crater wall, a regolith-covered reinforced concrete slab slid aside with a quiet puff of cold gas. It revealed a deep pit, smooth stone walls lined with a series of faint silver bands, completely dark except for a few dim red lights. A second passed, and a faint gleam was all the warning given before a missile, painted completely black with radiation-absorbing paint except for a gleaming silver tip, rocketed out of the silo, accelerated to eight percent of light speed by a five kilometer-long coilgun built into Luna herself. The rocket continued on its own momentum for a bare microsecond before a simple sensor detected it was clear of its silo and fired thrusters on a pre-programmed burn pattern. At its velocity there was not much maneuvering it could do, but it was just enough to change its heading by a thousandth of a degree as a series of solid-fuel rockets flung the radar-reflective tip ahead of the main warhead. The point defenses of an Abyssal assault ship locked onto the inert tip as its presence registered shockingly well on sensor scopes, quickly engaging and efficiently obliterating the decoy, creating a debris cloud that provided just enough cover for the main impactor to reach its target.

The _Autumn-_ class heavy cruiser UNSC _Lands Unknown_ rolled to the side as another missile streaked out from Luna's silos, almost too fast to track as staged gravitational repulsors boosted it to ten percent of light speed, putting her in just the right position to eject two hundred and twenty drop pods. Two companies of ODSTs fell towards the surface below followed by several Pelicans carrying a company of vacuum-suited marines, three Paladin main battle tanks and a Ballista anti-aircraft tank underslung, bringing much-appreciated armor and firepower to the ground forces already deploying across Luna's rocky face. She then accelerated along her pre-plotted course, hurrying with her division to an intercept with another Abyssal transport division and its escorts. A wing of Sentinel drones from _Yamato_ pulled out of an attack run right as five energy projectors slagged an Abyssal destroyer, followed by ten heavy MAC shells making metal mincemeat out of another. The remaining escorts, another destroyer, and two light cruisers turned to bring weapons to bear, but it took precious seconds to heave their bulks through tight, high-g turns, and when they finished the heavy cruisers _Starry Skies_ , _Voidbound Wanderer_ , _Seasons of Joy_ and _To World's End_ were already upon them.

Guns blazed across two hundred kilometers, practically face-to-face, as the two formations hurtled past one another. At that range, rapid-fired twenty-five centimeter naval coilgun rounds hit their targets almost instantly after leaving their barrels and point defense cannons directly pounded their counterparts with streams of magnetically accelerated shells. It was far, far too close and fast for any human to coordinate the action. The human crews thus trusted their AIs and automated weapons systems to aim properly, concentrating instead on damage control and maneuvering to gain the most advantageous angles in the moments before engagement. A flash, an explosion; the encounter only lasted for a second, and everyone came out the worse for it. On the UNSC side, _Starry Skies_ and _Seasons of Joy_ took the brunt of the punishment with shields depleted, MACs and main propulsion units damaged, and glowing gashes dozens of meters long ripped deep into their flanks. The alien vessels, however, were left as inert wrecks on a ballistic collision course with Luna. The transports, escorts gone and spotting five very angry heavy cruisers barreling towards them at alarmingly high speed, panicked and attempted to flee, but Abyssal bodies soon spilled into vacuum as a few dozen Howler-mounted fusion-pumped plasma spears were shoved up their sterns. The Abyssal capital ships, thousands of kilometers distant, were rather busy duking it out with Battlegroup _Nemesis_ and could not intervene in time, but did get in a consolation blow as energy projectors clipped the straggling _Starry Skies_ and _Seasons of Joy_ and put them out of their misery.

" _Hostile transports and escorts neutralized. Two allied heavy cruisers lost. Battlegroup_ Nemesis _moving into blocking position. Requesting additional reinforcements to maintain adequate engagement of enemy center force, over._ "

"BattDiv Seven requests support, multiple units falling back with heavy damage. One frigate lost."

"Minor enemy landings reported in Mare Australe. 106th, 113th Infantry, and 4th Mechanized are moving to protect the Helium-3 facilities. Luna Ground Command requests orbital bombardment support to suppress further landings."

"Multiple enemy transport groups attempting to move around our lines with a heavy escort."

"Understood." Hands clasped behind his back, Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood frowned at the battle sphere display in front of him, carefully assessing his available assets and target priorities. _Nemesis_ was slightly out of position from countering the Lunar landings, so _Minerva_ and _Vulcan_ couldn't provide support without radically repositioning and neglecting their current battles. _Yamato_ was already committed to support, the situation didn't warrant commitment of _Victory_ 's reserves… and _Warspite_ was under-engaged. Yes, that would do. "Batteries Golf through Juliet, concentrate fire on enemy units engaged with Battlegroup _Nemesis,_ priority target carrier Charlie-Five. _Warspite,_ cover BattDiv Seven's withdrawal and direct additional strikes to support _Nemesis_ , move BattDiv Ten up to compensate." With a gesture, he switched the focus from Luna to Earth and designated several ODPs. "All designated ODPs, switch focus to incoming transport groups. Battlegroup _Lexington,_ detach seven destroyer divisions and two battleship divisions to serve as a reserve interception force and focus aerospace strikes on stopping those transports. As always, deactivate local jump interdiction at your own discretion." Back to Luna. "Battlegroup _Yamato_ , prepare for bombardment operations and to deploy ground forces in support of Army elements. Ensure coordination with Ground Command."

A series of affirmatives came in from the various battlegroup commanders. Hood watched closely as the display reflected their movements, ships, and formations moving to execute orders. The lights and shadows in the Cairo Station Flag CIC rippled and warped as lean, predatory grey forms swept by the viewports; _Storm-_ class frigates _Tornado, Avalanche, Eruption_ , and _Hellwind_ , moving out from reserve positions in geosynchronous orbit, using their enormous thrust-mass ratios to race towards the oncoming Abyssal transports currently caught up in a vicious exchange of fire with Battlegroup _Lexington_ as well as several mobile divisions. They had tried to skirt wide and above the powerful formation, but a swarm of frigates and destroyers forced them into effective range of its guns. Another heavy Abyssal force attempted to push through the battleline and distract _Lexington,_ but _Minerva_ planted itself in their path and said 'no' in the universal language of three battleship divisions _._ As Hood watched, an alien cruiser fell out of formation and was instantly set upon by a swarm of bombers. Cherenkov readings spiked as it tried to charge its slipspace drive to jump away, but combined firepower of _Lexington_ 's bombers and two UNSC heavy cruisers overwhelmed it. The rest of the alien formation moved on, leaving their comrade a sputtering wreck, exchanging parting shots with the battleships _Michael_ and _Persephone_ as they did. The battlewagons were stuck in place, holding several Abyssal heavyweights back from taking a swing at _Lexington_ and boxing them in away from the rest of their fleet, but Hood felt confident that _Lexington_ 's aerospace forces and the ODPs would prevent any from even touching Earth orbit.

Right on cue, the deck vibrated as _Cairo_ 's Super MAC hurled yet another shell into the fray. The station hadn't stopped firing since the Abyssal tidal wave slammed into the Alpha Defense Perimeter three and a half days ago, with UNSC forces steadily falling back in towards the Lunar Defense Perimeter the entire time, and her extensive stocks of ammunition were running thin. Factories across the planet worked around the clock to churn out the massive shells she tossed around like spare change, but 4000-ton chunks of metal took time to make and trickle up the space elevators and that trickle was slowing.

"Casualty report. Indefatigable reporting severe damage and losses to aerospace complement, attempting to disengage. Two frigates lost, one heavy cruiser badly damaged. Contact lost with DesDiv 67, working to reestablish."

"Luna Ground Command reports initial skirmishing around the Mare Australe mining facilities. Friendly forces are dug in, but local anti-air concentration prevents allied aerospace assets from attacking enemy beachheads. LGC requests naval support to suppress enemy triple-a batteries."

"Mars Ground Command reports the use of two additional one-megaton tactical warheads to suppress enemy forces in the Tharsis Montes beachhead. 7th Army has taken heavy casualties and is attempting to regroup. New enemy landings reported in Acidalia Planitia, 21st Army moving to contain. In lieu of naval support, MGC requests authorization for escalation to strategic nuclear weapons for region denial, keyword Oscar-Papa-Two-Zero-Niner-Bravo-Golf, voiceprint match confirmed."

 _"_ Authorization granted, standard ROEs regarding civilian population centers are in effect. Transmitting authorization codes now." Hood consulted the unit lists and tried not to let his dismay show. For all the local successes that friendly units were achieving, for all the blood, sweat, and tears they were pouring into holding the Abyssals back, UNSC losses simply kept mounting and the aliens kept pouring more ships into the fight. At this rate, the Home Fleet would be forced to pull back within two days, clearing the way for the Abyssals to land directly on Earth… or just bombard it, depending on what their plans were, whether Saturn was in alignment with Jupiter with Mars in transit, whether a coin toss landed heads or tails, and whether the groundhog saw its own shadow. Hood, ONI, and the UNSC in general had genuinely zero clue; there were a half-dozen half-baked hypotheses floating around at any time about what motivated Abyssal behavior, but the most accurate descriptor would be 'inconsistent'. Sometimes they landed an invasion force, other times they glassed the planet, and still others they were content to merely destroy the defense fleet and leave the planet relatively unharmed but cut off from the rest of humanity. It was even worse than the Covenant War, as at least _that_ particular group of murderous aliens had the courtesy to provide a clear motive. Though, if Hood wanted to play the amateur sociologist, the Abyssal tendency to give pitched battle indicated some sort of honor system, or a warrior culture much like the Sangheili, or a grudge, though he couldn't fathom what the UN had done to offend them. That would certainly be magnified against a world as culturally significant as Earth, and thus they would be inclined to land troops. The large number of assault transports spotted in the alien fleet supported that conclusion. Whatever the case, it meant that they were content to simply slug it out the good old-fashioned way against the Home Fleet, which saved Hood from several major headaches and gave him several more.

" _Admiral Hood._ " A person materialized on the corner of the main display table, standing at parade rest. They wore a thick lab coat, and their features were neither male nor female; in fact, if Hood looked closely, they seemed to flow between the two. " _Multiple destroyer and frigate divisions report that they may be able to gain the rear of the enemy formation._ " The AI highlighted several units with a small flourish. " _It's questionable how much damage they'll actually be able to do, but it could take more pressure off our battleline._ "

"Negative. That's too far from any sort of support. They're strung out as it is and I'd prefer to conserve our forces until a better opportunity presents itself. Continue to put pressure on their flanks and herd them towards our heavy hitters, don't let them concentrate their forces, and don't let them get the run-around on us."

" _As you say. Additionally, there are reports of slipspace whispers about fifty thousand klicks past Lagrange 1. I believe the Abyssals may be trying to bypass the Lunar Perimeter and our jump interdiction beacons by approaching from behind. Prowler Command has dispatched two prowlers and a frigate division to investigate._ "

"That would seem rather important. Do tell, Leo." Hood spun the display, taking his attention away from the battle for just a moment to consider the space between Venus and Earth's orbits. The jump interdiction beacons which shielded Earth and the Home Fleet from sudden tactical jumps into the middle of their tight formations normally only extended as far as a million kilometers past Lunar orbit. Systematic Abyssal attacks had brought that coverage down to one hundred and fifty thousand kilometers. "Hand over untasked ODPs to Prowler Command and put _Victory_ on notice that it might be needed for quick reaction. It'll have to make a tactical jump to get there quickly, but that's just a risk we'll have to run."

" _Already done, sir._ " Leo slid on a pair of digital glasses and consulted a holographic clipboard. " _Let's see. Enemy flanking carrier divisions have been neutralized. They were only assault carriers, so_ Victory _managed them rather well. Enemy efforts to sneak transport divisions around our lines have also been blunted, courtesy of_ Lexington _._ "

"Welcome news. Send both my compliments, they will continue their assigned tasks at a reduced tempo." Cairo Station fired again, and Hood's eyes flicked briefly to the CIC ceiling as if he could see the 3500-tonne slug on its way to deal cold kinetic death. "I don't know what the alien bastards are trying to accomplish with these piecemeal advances, but if they want to drip feed themselves into our defenses I'm delighted to oblige. I'll be damned if it isn't aggravating, though," he grumbled. "How is the endurance of our battleline?"

" _Steady but declining. We are maintaining a roughly even kill ratio thanks. At this rate, I predict we will be forced to concede the Lunar Perimeter within two days or risk irrecoverable damage to our fighting capacity. The ground forces and surface batteries may occupy their attention for another two after that, after which I must recommend implementation of Protocol 4-Theia._ "

"I would prefer to avoid that for as long as possible. I rather like the moon in its present shape."

" _As do I. However, seeing as our calls for reinforcements have not been answered, the criteria for the protocol will inevitably be met._ " Leo tossed the clipboard over their shoulder where it dissolved into a spray of voxels. " _As all our commanders are competent and nothing major has changed in the past two hours, you might be interested in knowing our progress on the electronic warfare front._ "

"Don't hold back for my sake."

" _It took some doing. I had to work with fifty other fleet AIs to jank together a virtual machine that could properly interface with the kludge they call a battlenet. I can recognize elements of Covie, Forerunner, even_ UNSC _software architecture, of all things, but about fifty percent of it is a blend of something else entirely. The entire thing is a one-of-a-kind melting pot of disparate and mutually incompatible coding philosophies that shouldn't work but somehow does, and it has been the_ biggest _pain trying to break it._ " The AI made a show of running a hand through their hair, then cracked a small, smug smile. " _But we broke it. Took us two days but we did, and it seems the segment we initially focused on breaking was a secure command line. We're still working on refining the machine to consistently talk with the rest of it, but we have some juicy tidbits. And — oh, hold up, enemy right force is trying to coalesce with the center. Multiple frigate and cruiser divisions moving to hit_ Nemesis _and_ Vulcan _from above and below, with three battleship divisions trying to punch through to_ Yamato _. Projected course takes them below the solar plane, with sacrificial frigate divisions as a shield._ Yamato _is currently recovering a strike and will not be able to get out of range in time._ "

"Where the hell do they keep coming from? Show me." Leo snapped his fingers and disappeared, replaced by a close up of the relevant sector of battlespace. Twelve battleships, three whole divisions — what godforsaken hole did the damned Abyssals keep pulling these accursed things from? —forming a metal fist around which wrapped an equally hard glove of frigates hurling themselves against the forward battleline with wild abandon. Individually the frigates were a little threat, with even their UNSC counterparts capable of going mano-a-mano with them and having a fighting chance. The problem was that if they weren't respected a swarm of them could easily turn even a battleship into a shredded hulk, which meant that _Nemesis_ and _Vulcan_ were forced to partially devote their attentions to them. Combined with both already being committed to several other engagements, it meant that those twelve new battleships — they must have been fresh arrived from Mars or the gas giants, certainly they hadn't just been sitting around until now — passed under the line relatively unhindered, though shots were still traded and a salvo of missiles rising from Luna split one in half. " _Victory_ , we'll be needing that quick reaction right about now. Advance to support _Yamato_ from sector reference India-Mike-Tango-Zero-Four-Seven. Do _not_ let the enemy break through. ODPs, concentrate fire on designated enemy battleship divisions. _Vulcan_ , _Nemesis,_ do not allow any other enemy units to advance."

The cold voice of Vice Admiral Lee replied. " _Your orders received and acknowledged, sir. All units Battlegroup_ Victory _, immediate execute set course minus zero-one-two by minus-zero-two five, come to flank velocity, assume formation Hotel-One reference Victory-Actual, over._ " As he spoke, the battleships fired a salvo which split two heavy cruisers in half and nearly did the same to the carrier _Incomparable_ , who survived only due to the split-second reaction of her captain and AI rolling her over so that the rounds which broke her shields only blew away a main propulsion unit instead of her engineering spaces. The fires sputtering from the ragged hole in her hull as her crew fought to get her under control only underlined the urgency of the task.

On the display, Battlegroup _Victory_ immediately began moving out from its holding position at Lagrange One, burning hard to reinforce _Yamato_ eighty thousand kilometers distant. It would take them a few minutes to get up to full speed, and several minutes after that to actually rendezvous with their sister carrier group. However, their MACs and energy projectors would be in effective range beforehand, and as the ponderous fleet carriers picked up velocity a fresh wave of strike craft were pouring from their launch tubes, rallying at a point some two hundred kilometers behind their respective carriers. Several alerts sounded as a group of jump interdiction beacons shut down, followed by a Cherenkov radiation spike as a mass of micro-slipspace portals engulfed the strike wing. A moment passed and another Cherenkov alert blared, three hundred aerospace craft and two thousand drones spilling out of slipspace in the midst of a charging Abyssal battlegroup.

Local battlespace became a chaotic mess as the aliens began exchanging fire with _Yamato_ 's big guns, as _Yamato_ 's outer frigate and destroyer screens fell upon them from all angles and their own frigates rose to meet them in a brutal trade that saw five UNSC ships and three Abyssals annihilated in seconds, and as human single-ships suddenly appeared in the middle of their formation. One battleship detonated as five Sentinel drones and a Claymore bomber accidentally rematerialized within its reactor core in a one-in-a-billion chance, obliterating both the aerospace craft and the heavier warship. As MAC rounds began to strike home, the other bombers launched EMP warheads and torpedoes and fled for open space, sacrificing drones to shield themselves from return fire. Even so, ugly flashes of light pockmarked the darkness where Abyssal point defenses downed another fifteen wildly maneuvering Claymore bombers and a hundred and sixty Sentinel drones in the span of a couple of seconds, even as the tight alien formation dissolved into confusion. Barely a scratch on the immense stocks of aerospace craft of an _Enterprise-_ class fleet carrier, and a favorable trade for the two battleships who had large sections of hull suddenly disappear, shunted into unstable slip space portals, perhaps to be ejected somewhere in interstellar space, more likely to be shredded into component atoms and forever lost. Cherenkov radiation spiked one last time, more micro-portals engulfing the fleeing bombers and spitting them out safely in front of their home carriers, the missiles chasing after them losing lock and wandering aimlessly off into space.

" _Strike complete, will proceed as planned until further orders._ Laffey _aerospace strike complement reduced point zero five percent._ Victory _aerospace strike complement reduced one percent._ Bonhomme Richard _aerospace strike complement reduced point zero five percent. Twenty minutes to next strike. All units Battlegroup_ Victory, _come to course minus zero-one-one by minus zero two two, come to engagement velocity,_ _engage the enemy with main battery fire, assume formation Echo-Two reference Victory Actual, over._ " _Victory's_ own big guns went into action as another Abyssal battlegroup attempted to follow the first, but repeated attacks from UNSC frigate and destroyer divisions forced its course upwards until it intersected with a battleship division from Battlegroup _Vulcan_. Supported by strikes launched from _Warspite,_ the _Pantheon_ -class battlewagons roared salvo after accurate salvo, overcoming powerful Abyssal sensor blurring by the sheer force of several hundred ships, dozens of long-range sensor stations, thousands of battlespace observation drones, and the Prowler Corps combining, cross-correlating, and correcting sensor readings. With a sample size that large, errors faded into pinpoint targeting data.

Leo nodded in a satisfied sort of way. " _That seems handled. I will monitor the situation._ " Hood rotated the display back to an overall view as they spoke, taking in any changes which had transpired in the last twenty minutes or so. Another few frigates lost, another Abyssal ship destroyed, Battlegroup _Minerva_ forced to move six thousand kilometers up-orbit as its opponents tried to move around it. Isolated from support, it was taking a beating, with three cruisers lost in the last ten minutes. As he gave orders for _Lexington_ to help _Minerva_ move back towards Luna, Leo continued. " _But back to matters of intelligence. The command circuit we broke — it's an isolated one, with a single node on what we assume is the flagship._ " They held up a hand at Hood's frown. " _I know what you're thinking, but it's not actionable. That thing's surrounded by its own personal battleship division and a carrier besides. It's also smack in the middle of the highest concentration of cruisers, point defenses, and combat aerospace patrols this side of the asteroid belt. To the point, we — fifty other Fleet AIs and I — managed to follow the thread for about a millisecond before it terminated somewhere in the fifth pseudodimension of slipspace. We could find no other nodes, not even after thirty seconds of probing, and that is a_ long _time._ "

"A secure superluminal command circuit that only has one node…" Hood rubbed at his chin, mind working on the implications of this. "And what did you overhear?"

" _Not much. We got just one thing before the encryption cycled and we had to rethink our entire cypher formula._ " Leo actually looked perturbed at this, their brow wrinkling in consternation. " _'P en route._ ' _Damned cryptic, eh?_ "

"'P' en route?" Hood thought back to earlier. "Those slipspace whispers, near L1 — we need a minefield there, and any interdiction beacons we can spare."

" _The beacons, I'm afraid, we're fresh out of. Mines, though, Prowler Command is lousy with._ "

"That'll have to do. Have them lay down a field ten thousand kilometers across with density factor two centered on the ninety-five percent whisper peak. Nothing much, just enough to slow down anything coming through. And give me constant imaging on that sector, as well as heightened alert for all sensor stations in the system."

" _At once, sir— what the?_ "

Metal groaned as _Cairo Station_ suddenly shook. Hood braced himself on the display table as Leo's hologram fizzled out. He could hear commands going out over the PA system and feel the faint vibration of point defense guns and plasma lance batteries going into action, as well as the subtle thuds of launch tubes ejecting additional fighters to reinforce the ODP's combat aerospace patrol. "Report."

" _A hundred Abyssal fighters came out of stealth two thousand klicks away and immediately attacked_ Malta Station. Malta _reports their gun is disabled and they've sustained severe damage from plasma and nuclear warheads._ Athens _and_ Cairo have _sustained minor damage,_ Cairo _'s lost two docking bays and a short-range communications array._ " The AI reappeared with a bit of static marring their glowing form. They almost looked embarrassed. " _They took the opportunity of our lowered interdiction beacons and_ Victory _'s micro-portals to tactical jump a wing of fighters, then drifted with zero emissions until now. I wasn't looking closely enough at the Cherenkov spectrums and failed to differentiate them. I'm helping with the point defenses on_ Cairo _and vectoring the CAP for interception,_ _but just in case, I would advise you to be ready to transfer your flag, sir._ "

"Battlegroup _Warspite,_ immediate execute, detach two wings of fighters and vector for additional CAP duties in Earth orbit. " Hood shook his head and grimaced, blocking out the shrill ring of a fire alarm from somewhere nearby. "Maybe if you can find a corvette to spare. Otherwise, the CIC is safer for the time being than an evacuation craft." He watched as fighter icons quickly winked off the display, caught in a crossfire between three orbital defense platforms and multiple wings of Rapier fighters. _Malta_ was listing, fires belching out of several large holes in her habitation rings, the delicate mechanisms of her primary gun slagged. Not good. The fighters themselves hadn't been too bad to deal with, and it seemed they had mistaken _Malta Station_ for the command center. _Not the first time_ Cairo _has been spared by chance_ , Hood thought with a snort. _Round and round we go, where we stop, nobody knows…_ The more important thing to consider was that the defenses were beginning to slip. He was starting to slip. Security against such tactical jumps was normally airtight, but with the risks they were taking something was going to slip through. Now it was a fighter, but when would the Abyssals catch them at a particularly bad moment and jump an entire battleship division into low Earth orbit? The Home Fleet was already stretched, and with more alien forces arriving from Mars and the outer Solar System… hmph.

"' _Hmph' indeed, sir._ " He must have said that last part out loud. " _It's not an ideal situation, to be sure, but we can only get weaker while they get stronger. I would remind you again of Protocol 4-Theia."_

 _"_ Thank you, but that will not be necessary," Hood replied firmly. Nine NOVA bombs, carefully buried beneath Luna's crust, capable of fracturing the moon and blasting trillions of tons of rock into space as jets of relativistic plasma, keyed directly to his neural and genetic signature as well as Leo's neural matrix. A page straight out of the Insurrectionist manual, capable of vaporizing entire fleets, and a last resort if he'd ever heard of one. He'd not use it until the last soldier on Luna died. "Blasted things might do more harm than good if the plasma front hits the atmosphere, and call me selfish but I don't fancy being remembered as the man who turned the moon into a bomb."

" _As you say. It's not something I relish doing either, but we may have no choice._ "

The last fighter disappeared, run down by a pair of Rapiers. Sailors and robots swarmed over _Malta_ , trying to bring the damage under control as the station attempted to bring targeting back online and reengage with its long-range missile batteries. With the immediate danger dealt with, Hood turned his attentions once more to the wider battle. Battlegroup _Minerva_ had successfully regained its prior position, allowing its more damaged ships to withdraw to the safety of the rear while reinforcements from _Lexington_ replaced them. The time spent outside the range of support had been costly; two battleships were among the ships limping for the rear, the UNSC _Pele_ and the _Nergal_. Additionally, and more dismaying, the UNSC _Freyja_ no longer registered on the display. The Abyssals had managed to single out the battleship from her escorts while she moved up to cover several retreating frigate and destroyers and subjected her to a withering crossfire. Though the cruiser division acting as her escort attempted to draw some fire away, the battleship was simply too far away from the line and even a _Pantheon_ -class had her limits. Also lost was the assault carrier _Debonair_ , and her strike capacity would be sorely missed, but the loss of _Freyja_ 's armor and guns was far more concerning.

Despite three days of constant battle, the seven battlegroups defending Earth had only lost four other battleships between them. Indeed, of the 1100 ships they initially possessed between them, only three hundred and sixty had been destroyed or disabled, most in the opening hours, for the price of around three hundred and fifteen Abyssal ships. An even trade, all things considered, but an even trade was an unfavorable one in this case. The Abyssals seemed content to let the battle for Earth stagnate, pinning the bulk of the Home Fleet in place while they mopped up the smaller Martian and Jovian defense groups. So while the fleet was able to keep the Abyssals away from Earth, it in turn was trapped, unable to break out and reinforce the rest of the Solar System lest the Abyssals have a free shot at Earth. Additionally, every loss the UNSC sustained would stick, while there seemed to be no end to the Abyssal reinforcements. With a sigh, Hood pinched his nose and let his eyes close for a brief moment. He could be a stubborn old bastard, he'd admit that much, but he was not delusional. The numbers were immutable. He could plainly see, barring divine intervention from gods he didn't believe in, what the only outcome could be.

Which made it all the more confusing when a sensor officer suddenly called out, confusion coloring his voice, "Sir! Reports from multiple units, enemy units breaking contact and disengaging."

"What?" Hood's eyes snapped back open, all fatigue instantly vanished. "Repeat your last."

"Confirmed, sir," another officer said, voice tight with restrained excitement. "Mobile divisions report rapidly decreasing enemy contact."

A glance at Leo yielded the only a puzzled look, the AI's simulated brow furrowed and eyes closed as they processed a tsunami of incoming information. "That can't be right. All battlegroups, report engagement status."

" _This is Battlegroup_ Nemesis _, I say again, enemy center force is breaking contact. We are maintaining engagement but not pursuing, over._ "

" _Battlegroup_ Vulcan, _we do not see— belay that, enemy heavy units are disengaging, repeat, enemy heavy units are disengaging. They're moving out of the influence of our jump interdiction beacons — they're jumping away, over._ "

" _This is_ Minerva _, we confirm the last. Their frigate screen is pulling off, moving out of jump interdiction range. Slipspace ruptures, six hundred thousand klicks distant. Standing by for further orders, over._ "

The rest of the battlegroups chimed in as well, adding to Hood's growing sense of disbelief. He looked for himself — it was slow, hard to see at first, but the capital ships pulled away first, followed by the lighter units giving them cover, and finally the aerospace craft. It was like a giant blanket of red fog lifting away as the space between the opposing battlelines increased like a sandy beach being revealed by a receding tide. Ships still hurled salvoes at each other, of course, but the fire was dying down on both sides, from the Abyssals as they turned away as one and from UNSC vessels as confusion and paranoia stayed their trigger fingers and caused them to redouble sensor scans in an attempt to detect the trap that must be closing around them. Frigate screens and destroyer divisions, suddenly without targets to intercept or harass, took the time to lick their own wounds. Some of the more damaged ones began the long retreat to the safety of the rear, but most of them fanned out cautiously, in pairs or trios, probing for flanking forces trying to dark-drift behind UNSC lines. That they found none only increased Hood's incredulity.

"Leo, analysis. Is the same thing happening around Mars?"

" _Negative, sir_." Leo looked just as confused as anyone else, bits of code swirling like a snowstorm around them as their already hyper-accelerated thought processes went into overdrive. " _Probes show Abyssal forces still in place around Mars and Jupiter. It's just us. They are holding position at — they have withdrawn to around halfway to Lagrange 2. Distance six hundred fifty thousand klicks past Lunar orbit. They're back at their starting point? This makes no strategic sense._ "

"A moment." Hood hit the fleet wide transmission. "All units, repeat, all units, cease fire and do not pursue the enemy. Maintain current separation from the enemy, but be prepared to coalesce to defend against a concentrated thrust. Assume formations for maximum point-defense coverage and remain vigilant at all times for tactical jumps, our interdiction beacon coverage is severely degraded past seventy thousand kilometers. Confirm receipt and understanding immediately." Acknowledgements came swiftly, but he paid them no mind, staring instead at the positional display. "That far? Why? There's no reason for them to stop now."

" _I'd tell you if I knew, and I'd love to know why. I'm almost 100 percent certain this is a trick, but until it's sprung I suggest we use this chance to repair. At this range, we'll see any shots coming long before they arrive. Of course, same applies to them. This is out of effective range for even our energy projectors…_ "

Forcing himself to reign in the speculation, Hood refocused on the here and now. The battle had changed, drastically; he needed intelligence data, fast. "Can we get any Prowlers or probes out there? Some closer eyes on them would be greatly appreciated."

" _The Prowlers just finished seeding the new minefield, they'll be a hot minute or so. No slipspace unless you want the poor sneaky bastards to get blown up on arrival, so it'd be at least an hour and a half of drifting before they got on station. RSO_ Bohr _does have eyes on, but without more cross-referencing any data will be subject to sensor blurring._ "

"It's still something, and we have nothing. _Bohr_ will focus all efforts on monitoring the enemy forces. This must be a ploy of some sort. Keep looking! All units, execute whatever repairs you can without reducing combat effectiveness." Despite all his instincts screaming that this was a trap, Hood could see no sign of any attempts at attack. No Cherenkov radiation, no long-range salvoes, and reconnaissance still hadn't found anything out to four hundred thousand kilometers. Drifting stealth mines exploding amidst formations tightly packed for overlapping point-defense coverage? No, broad spectrum scans designed specifically to defeat stealth coatings, background radiation pattern aberration detectors, even good old-fashioned telescopes revealed nothing. Enemy ships suddenly popping up on the other side of the planet? No, no ODP clusters reported being directly engaged, nor did the light picket forces scattered throughout Earth orbit to provide just such a warning. What was this? Some kind of new tech? A new cloaking device? What were the alien bastards waiting for? They certainly looked like they were waiting for something, just sitting there, watching, watching—

"Priority comm!" He got his answer soon enough "RSO _Newton_ reports incoming unscheduled slipspace wavefront, multiple high-mass objects in transit."

"RSO _Curie_ confirms, working to triangulate."

" _And so the other shoe drops._ "

Hood split the display in two, one focusing on the primary battlespace, the other a whole system display, and highlighted RSOs _Newton_ and _Curie_. _Newton_ occupied a point about halfway between Venus and Earth, while _Curie_ maintained a solar orbit at about the same distance and about fifty million kilometers up-orbit of Earth, transmitting via a secure superluminal datalink. Seconds passed, the entire CIC waiting with bated breath for triangulation data to come in. The duty officers remained focused on managing the data streams coming into their own consoles, but even the most dedicated of the bunch couldn't help but flick one eye over to the central display.

"Triangulation acquired, sending to main display!"

" _Rupture position determined with eighty percent confidence, and what a twist!_ " Leo covered their mouth in faux shock. " _Just Lagrange 1, right where we picked up those slip space whispers. How utterly predictable. I know those alien bastards are cocky — I'd be, if I were them, which I'm not — but telegraphing a move so far in advance, that's just disrespectful, don't you think?_ "

"Focus. I have a hunch that the mysterious 'P' is about to show itself. Battlegroup _Victory,_ disengage from the line and prepare to jump to sector Romeo Foxtrot Golf Eight. Battlegroup _Yamato_ , make ready to reinforce _Victory_ from sector Romeo Foxtrot Hotel Eight, but stand by at your current position." Taking a breath, Hood continued to speak, eyes never leaving the display. "Leo, is the minefield in place?"

Leo had disappeared, dematerializing their avatar to focus on intelligence analysis, but their voice still sounded, casual as always. " _As best as it can be._ "

"Good. Inform Prowler Command to detonate on my command. Untasked ODP clusters, coordinate with RSOs and Prowler Command for targeting data and priorities. All Earth-orbital warships, maintain position five hundred kilometers from your assigned ODP cluster and stand by for further orders. All other units, maintain observation on main enemy fleet and alert for tactical jumps. Give me a countdown until rupture."

" _Done._ " A disembodied finger snap, and a countdown appeared next to the highlighted rupture position. " _ETA ten minutes. Whatever this thing is, it's big. It's got to be absolutely titanic if we're picking it up this early._ "

"We'll see for ourselves soon enough." The ten minutes trickled away like molasses. Hood kept one eye on the main Abyssal fleet at all times, but besides some formation shuffling the aliens kept their distance, suddenly reluctant to engage the Home Fleet. Battlegroup _Victory_ got into position for a tactical jump, several jump interdiction beacons ready to deactivate at Vice Admiral Lee's command. More RSOs and a few Prowlers chimed in, Leo correlating all the data until the rupture position was increased to a 99.9 percent confidence level. A single bead of sweat made its way down Hood's face. Another glance back at the Abyssal fleet; still no change, no maneuvers besides station-keeping, bastards hadn't even responded to a few missiles tossed their way. This was damn unnerving, this sudden change, it couldn't be anything good. He almost wished those sons of bitches would just attack and stop playing whatever this waiting game was—

"Report! RSO _Newton_ has new contacts, multiple contacts, sector Romeo Foxtrot Alpha Two."

"RSO _Curie_ confirms, several contacts, identifying cruisers, destroyers, and one — one unclassified contact."

"Unclassified, high mass contact, estimated at sixty—" The officer swallowed, professional calm cracking into disbelief for a split second. "Sixty billion tonnes. Lord in heaven, it's huge…"

" _Classifying unknown contact as Abyssal X-class, possible supercarrier._ " Leo's voice took on a new note of urgency as Abyssal ships continued to drop out of slip space in the predicted position. " _Admiral, I recommend prompt detonation of the minefield, followed by an attack by_ Victory _and_ Yamato _with the support of all available orbital assets. The thing's as big as a_ Glory- _class and RSO_ Newton' _s reading some highly esoteric radiation emissions._ "

"Agreed. Prowler Command, detonate minefield with detonation pattern Golf Two, maximum EMP yield on my command. Battlegroups _Victory_ , _Yamato_ , drop interdiction beacons and jump to predetermined sectors and immediately engage the enemy on my command. _Newton, Curie,_ conduct a threat assessment on the X-class immediately. I want a rundown on all visible weapons, estimated shield strength, propulsion capability, anything." Ideally he'd have that _before_ he ordered two carrier battlegroups into battle, but every fiber in his body was screaming to kill that massive thing before it advanced on Earth. Not only because of the obvious threat that twenty billions of metal represented — that thing's shields could probably soak up a barrage of Super MAC rounds before going down — but because everything about the ship, from its flowing, organic, yet harsh and jagged lines, how it seemed to drink in all light, almost dimming the stellar backdrop surrounding it, to the way he had to consciously force his eyes to remain on it, lest he give into a subconscious compulsion, tingling at the back of his brain, to look away, look away, you are not meant to see this—

"No new ruptures detected. Acceleration detected, new enemy forces are accelerating on an intercept course with Earth."

Hood almost did a double take when he read the acceleration figures for the X-class. From L1, it would reach geostationary orbit within an hour; he didn't even want to imagine how much thrust it must be putting out, or what would happen when it arrived. "Show me the main enemy fleet… no changes, good. Leo, continue monitoring them and alert me if they so much as twitch. Prowler Command, battlegroups, immediate execute previous orders. ODPs, begin firing as soon as those bastards come in range. Let's blow them out of the sky."

" _Prowler Command acknowledges all. Detonation in three, two, one, detonation._ " The footage from a Clarion drone transmitting from twenty thousand kilometers beneath the solar plane showed a brief flash of light, a pinprick really, fading immediately as dozens of Hornet mines broke stealth and ran themselves into the nearest Abyssal warship, detonating against shields in nuclear infernos tailored to maximize EMP effects to disrupt shields and sensors at the expense of direct energy transfer. The flux was such that even at its range, static filled the Clarion's camera feed and its shielded transmitters struggled to send data. The light had barely faded when the Clarion's Cherenkov detectors began screaming as thousands of slip space portals opened up; a full strike, every single bomber and drone from the combined complements of six fleet and four assault carriers, plus whatever their escorts could contribute, followed closely by the ships themselves, missiles already in flight as they tore back into realspace on the other side of the planet they protected. As Claymores and Sentinels dumped their payloads and fled, as MAC rounds and energy projectors streaked through space, as ODPs fired the first of many volleys, the EMP weakened shields of the Abyssal force barely had the time to start rebuilding before the enormous alpha strike crashed into them with a brilliant radiance that forced the Clarion to shut off its optics to prevent damage.

"Switch to feed from RSO _Newton_. All units, stand by for further orders." It took an agonizing moment for the connection to establish. Unconsciously, Hood tapped a finger against the edge of the display table. He wanted to ask Leo for an analysis, but, no. Better to see for himself first.

"Feed is live, sir. Patching through… now…" The officer trailed off, staring at the data coming in through his screen. "No way…"

"Leo, tell me I'm not seeing this right."

" _No aberrations detected in your visual cortex, sir._ " A slight tremor entered the AI's voice as their avatar rematerialized, shock written in its posture. The first strike had released enough energy to scour the heavens, and indeed dozens of smaller Abyssal ships had vanished from the threat board. However… " _That thing is… untouched._ "

"We have an estimate for shield strength, sir. Based on observed impacts, we are rating its absorption capacity at at least several petatons of TNT."

"Goddammit. Do not relent, it has to have a limit somewhere. Press the attack! Leo, do we have a weapons analysis yet?"

" _Highly speculative, sir. It has not fired yet, but we've spotted the usual suspects: particle lances, mass drivers, et cetera. We've dealt with those before, we'll do it again, but what concerns me is this._ " A 3D model of the X-class appeared, hovering above the display table. Hood leaned in to inspect the highlighted portion. " _I could comfortably fit three energy projectors into this area, but instead there's just this big, I don't know, thing? I've never seen its like._ "

"It seems to have a limited firing arc," Hood muttered, already thinking about the maneuvers the thing would have to pull to get what he assumed was its main cannon into line. "No guesses as to function? Could it just be a massive energy projector?"

" _I don't know. We could be dealing with anything from that to some one-off prototype Forerunner weapon which collapses the entire timeline of a single point in space into a temporal singularity, wiping the very concept of anything and everything that has, does, and will exist there from reality. We won't know until it—_ " Leo stopped suddenly, then resumed, speaking faster and even more urgently. " _Nevermind, we'll find out now. Reading increased emissions from the X-class, across the spectrum, increasing rapidly—_ "

" _Victory_ , _Yamato_ , immediate execute disengage, repeat, diseng—"

Were it not for decades of experience hardening him, Hood would have collapsed then and there. As it was, his knees buckled and his vision went dark from the immense pressure which suddenly fell over him, as if someone had just dropped a Scorpion on top of his head. It felt like something was trying to rip his soul out through his throat, and it was with an oddly out-of-body sensation that he realized his tongue was bleeding where he'd bit it hard enough to cut. Around him, he could hear officers and sailors screaming, groaning, vomiting, but it was all so far away, and he was struggling just to breathe.

" _Admiral? Admiral Hood! Lord Hood, what's the matter?! Please, answer me—_ " Leo's voice trailed off into silence, before the normally collected AI let fly a torrent of expletives. " _What the fuck—_ "

With a groan of willpower, Hood wrenched himself back. The out-of-body sensation vanished with the force of a whipcrack, physically staggering him as he spat blood onto the floor. "Focus, Leo! Status report!" he shouted, voice hoarse.

" _Admiral—!_ " Leo sighed with relief. " _Good, you're still functional._ "

"Likewise, now, report!"

" _Sir._ " Levity fled, leaving only deadly seriousness. " _I don't know what just came over everyone, but there was a massive, unpatterned spike in alpha neural activity in multiple regions of your brain. More importantly, the X-class just fired, and whatever it hit us with, well…_ " The AI waved helplessly, indicating a segment of the display. " _We've lost_ Victory."

 _"We what?!_ " Battlegroup _Victory_ was gone. Before his eyes, three _Enterprise_ -class fleet carriers, two assault carriers, seven battleships, dozens of cruisers, destroyers and frigates, vaporized. No heat, no radiation except that which spilled from breached reactors and slipspace drives, no build-up of energy, no gravitational or magnetic anomalies or warnings of any kind, just floating one moment, Vice Admiral Lee was reporting his successful transition, the next, his flagship had been reduced to a few confused Rapier fighters futilely trying to contact FLIGHTCON. A premier formation of the Home Fleet, lead by a twenty-year veteran flag officer, wiped from existence. The idea nearly made Hood stagger again.

Battlegroup _Yamato_ was untouched, but its formation was in shambles. Whatever hit _Cairo_ Station had evidently hit them as well, possibly worse, as even though AIs had automatically assumed navigational control when bridge crews were incapacitated, they too struggled to maintain position. As the CIC began to come back to its senses, reports and questions from the rest of the fleet began streaming in, each a variation of 'what the hell just happened?' Hood wished he could give them an answer, but the residual pounding in his head made it hard just to think. "Battle—" He swallowed, shaking his head to clear it. "Battlegroup _Yamato_ , immediate execute, disengage and retreat. Fall back to geostationary orbit and do not, I repeat, do not engage. Confirm receipt and understanding."

"Y-Yamato _copies all, sir. God… all units, fall back!_ " The transmission cut off, Vice Admiral Rodriguez obviously shaken. One by one, UNSC ships began jumping away, but several were destroyed as Abyssal warships, taking advantage of the disruption, swept in to attack. _Yamato_ herself was hit multiple times with particle lances, though her shields absorbed the damage without issue. The X-class seemed content to let them go, or perhaps it needed time to recharge; either way, as an entire UNSC fleet carrier battlegroup turned tail and fled before the Abyssal behemoth and its twenty-odd escorts, it was hard to see the situation as anything but unfavorable. In the midst of trying to puzzle out a way to beat the thing, Hood nearly forgot about the thousand-strong Abyssal fleet waiting six hundred thousand klicks beyond Lunar orbit. He nearly did, until a nervous shout reminded him of that unpleasant reality.

"Report! Main enemy force is advancing again! Estimate time to engagement at thirty minutes! Cherenkov radiation — they're tactical jumping!"

 _And so it ends_ , Hood thought, as Abyssal ships began to reemerge from slipspace two hundred thousand kilometers away from the Lunar battleline. The Home Fleet had never left combat status and engaged immediately, destroying a dozen enemy ships in the opening salvo, but more kept coming and he could see that the Abyssals had reinforcements, most likely from their Jovian and Martian forces. The two fleets met at their previous engagement line, space lighting back up with clusters of nuclear explosions and beams of plasma, the unrelenting numbers and weaponry of the Abyssals forcing the Home Fleet back step by step as the X-class advanced from the other side, shields withstanding multiple ODP rounds as it closed in on Battlegroup _Yamato_. The two forces were like a vice slowly squeezing down on Earth, and even as Hood issued maneuvering orders and directed his forces where they would be most effective the writing on the wall was clear. This was what the Abyssals were waiting for. This was their endgame. The Home Fleet had put up a good show, but there was no foreseeable way to win against these odds. They needed time and space, and though Hood hated it, he could only see one way to buy them.

"All units, disengage and fall back to Rally Point Oscar. Repeat, disengage and retreat. Do not throw your ships away, we need to get out of this trap and regroup." There were protests, especially from the ships in Earth orbit covering the ongoing evacuations, but Hood overrode them. "All we can accomplish here is _dying_. We will be back, with a better plan, but for now we must retreat. Fall back immediate—"

" _Report! Slipspace ruptures detected!_ "

" _What now?_ " Leo groaned, having just started preparing for data transfer. " _It's not as if they don't already outnumber us three to one. I swear, if they bring another X-class in, I'm going to seriously lose it!_ "

"Time and place, Leo. Report, what's coming through?"

"Trying to resolve the signatures, sir. Reading… wait… reading UNSC transponders?"

Hood blinked and frowned. "Repeat that. UNSC transponders?"

"Yes, sir. I — incoming transmission." The dumbfounded officer looked up at the display as if trying to parse some universal truth from the grim projection. "Patching it through now."

A gasp swept around the CIC like a gust of wind as a voice that Hood had given up hope of ever hearing again came through the speakers. It was tinny and distorted from the shock of slip space transition, but it and the ship whose immensely powerful superluminal transmitters sent it lifted the spirits of every human in the Solar System with a command comms link or a telescope. " _Solar System Command, this is Admiral Thomas Lasky onboard UNSC_ Infinity _. The Epsilon Eridani Defense Fleet is on station and ready to assist. Requesting orders, over._ "

"Lasky?!"

" _Admiral Hood, is that you, sir? Good to hear your voice. I have seven hundred and eighty ships with me, and we are moving to engage the enemy fleet, over._ "

"I — yes, engage the enemy fleet immediately. The Home Fleet has taken heavy casualties and we need space and time to regroup." Hood could scarcely believe it — the three-to-one the Abyssals held was melting away as formation after formation peeled away from their battleline and wheeled around to meet the oncoming UNSC ships. The tight alien formation was dissolving into chaos as they turned to face this new threat, and it almost seemed like they were more afraid of it than they were of the Home Fleet. Just as well, as the Home Fleet pounced on this sudden weakness, wiping thirty alien ships from the sky in a single pass. "I'll forgo asking how you knew to come, but I must warn you of the enemy force on the opposite side of the planet. They possess a supercarrier-mass vessel we have designated an X-class which mounts a weapon capable of destroying an entire carrier battlegroup through unknown means."

" _An X-class, sir? That matches up with a Z-class dreadnought. Damn, this makes things complicated._ "

"You've — have you encountered this thing before?"

" _Secondhand experience, yes, but I've heard of the weapon you're describing. Thank you for the warning, sir, I will redeploy our specialized units to counter it._ "

This day just kept getting stranger. Why was Lasky talking like he already knew what this thing was? And was he implying— "I have several questions, Admiral, but they can wait. Vice Admiral Rodriguez is in command of Battlegroup _Yamato_ currently facing the X-class, I will patch you through to him. You'll have ODP support as well."

" _Understood, thank you sir. One request: there is a unit, IFF FFG-201, among the forces I am sending. She will not register on any UNSC databases or with any known unit type, but I must ask that you order all forces not to fire on her._ "

Hood felt one of his eyebrows rise. "FFG-201? 'Her'? This is not the time for jokes, Admiral."

A tired sigh. As the two fleets fell on the Abyssal battleline from front and back, Hood could almost see the man on the other end rubbing his temples. " _If there's a joke, it's on the Abyssals for a change, sir. I'll provide a full debriefing later; right now, let's kill these aliens. Lasky out._ "

* * *

" _Forward Unto Dawn, this is FLIGHTCON, comm check, comm check. How copy, over?_ "

"FLIGHTCON, Forward Unto Dawn, copy all, comms loud and clear, over."

" _Forward Unto Dawn, stand by to receive situation update, wait one._ " The radio crackled static for a moment, bits of background chatter floating through as indistinct murmurs. " _Forward Unto Dawn, update as follows: be advised, at this time there is uncertainty regarding the interaction of local targeting protocols with your updated IFF codes. Due to a lack of prior communication, advise not approaching local forces before communication and identity are positively established. How copy, over?_ "

"FLIGHTCON, Forward Unto Dawn, copy your last. Confirm receipt and understanding: stay out of friendly fields of fire until positive confirmation of IFF, over."

" _Forward Unto Dawn, FLIGHTCON, confirm all. No further updates, monitor channels NAVCOM 5 and TACCOM 0, stand by for launch in ten mikes. Report any equipment issues immediately. FLIGHTCON out._ "

The general tactical net faded back in as _Hope Springs Eternal_ 's flight controller signed off. Dawn dedicated a few of her comms officers to monitoring the chatter, directing them to compile and analyze the reports streaming back in from various reconnaissance units. As they assembled information about hostile and friendly deployments, she focused most of her own attention on her equipment, running through last-minute checks and tune-ups. She paid special attention to her MAC coils in particular. She could deal with losing an engine or some sensors or half her point defenses. If her MAC went down it was game over, no redos, go to jail and do not pass go, so she went over those coil alignments with a molecular-haired comb.

" _Forward Unto Dawn, this is AUXCON, how copy, over?_ "

Her mouth quirked into a smile. "AUXCON, Forward Unto Dawn, copy all. Captain Garcia, good to hear you. Your callsign suits you, sir, over."

" _Good to hear you too._ " She could hear the smile in his voice as well. " _I'm looking forward to working together in the very, very near future._ "

"As am I, sir. Any specifics on what exactly we'll be working on?"

" _Yes, and management has tweaked our goals a bit. I'm sending a data packet now, but the gist of it is there's been an unexpected development, and management thinks your set of talents are uniquely suited to solving it._ "

"Glad to hear it, I…" Dawn trailed off as her officers processed the new intel, then her eyes widened. "Sir, what is this thing?"

" _An Abyssal Z-class dreadnought, or an X-class as I hear the locals have taken to calling it._ " An expertly concealed hint of fear entered Garcia's tone, but it remained steady nonetheless. " _Apparently, that thing tanked two entire Home Fleet carrier battlegroups on its face, vaporized one and put the fear of God into the second one._ "

Dawn had a vivid vision of her MAC rounds bouncing off the thing's side. "And I'm supposed to do… what, exactly, against it?"

" _Destroy it, ideally. Now, it's not as bad as it sounds. Your weapons probably won't make much of an impression on its hide, but they're breaking out the goods for you. One HAVOK anti-shipping warhead._ " Dawn looked up and saw a group of technicians with a large anti-grav trolley between them making their way towards her. " _One hundred and fifteen megatons of compact nuclear goodness. You will fight your way through the thing's defenses, find or make an entry point, and plant that nuke somewhere it'll hurt._ " Garcia sighed as the technicians reached her and began removing the warhead, which Dawn noted to her dismay fit the definition of 'compact' extremely loosely. " _You'll have two SPARTAN fire teams as backup, each also carrying two HAVOKs. Off the record, I'm of the opinion that you're better off chucking that nuke up the damned thing's tailpipe, but Command believes that that could prove ineffective._ "

"Great." Dawn held up her arms, allowing the techs to secure the bulky nuke to her stomach. Her bulky reactor pack prevented them from sticking the thing to her lower back like normal, but with the warhead strapped to her abdominal armor she couldn't even bend over. "Careful with the reactor, guys. I don't want to find out what it'll take to breach it."

"Don't worry, we're on it." True to their word, the techs worked very efficiently, though she caught a couple of them shooting her equipment half-skeptical, half-inquisitive looks, as if they'd like nothing more than to take it apart and figure out how it worked. Frankly, she couldn't blame them. Looking at her own gear, half of it didn't even look like it ought to work at all. She couldn't even begin to explain how her MAC seemed to hit with the same force as the real deal, or how her reactor achieved the same efficiencies as a larger version. Oh, well. At least it meant they were past the 'questioning her existence' phase, which, honestly, she was still getting over a bit.

The techs stepped back as they finished securing the HAVOK, leaving Dawn to awkwardly try to fit her arms around it. Apparently, unlike her own Hyperion nukes, stuff introduced from the outside wouldn't conveniently miniaturize. And speaking of those… Dawn keyed her circuit to Garcia. "Say, I just remembered, I told you guys I had nukes of my own, right? Can't I just use those?"

" _Command wants to be absolutely certain, and they're not sure that your nukes have the same yield as they did in… well, in your previous life. They probably do, but we haven't had the opportunity to test it._ "

"Fair enough." She patted the metal casing nervously, nodding thanks to the techs who gave her encouraging thumbs-ups and shouted promises to kick her ass if she got herself killed as they walked away. "Do I have any support?"

" _Four cruiser divisions, twice as many frigates, every gun, fighter, and meter of armor that a carrier battlegroup can give, and a sprinkling of ODPs on top._ " Dawn whistled appreciatively; the ODPs alone were more than she expected. " _We're getting you close via tactical jump, so you won't have very far to go._ " There was a pause, but Dawn could tell he had more to say. " _And… don't quote me on this, but I've heard that ONI has something up their sleeve as well. That damned ONI agent won't say anything more, but… ugh, it's infuriating, but I wouldn't count on it. Just go with what I said before._ "

"Understood, sounds substantial." She was feeling a little better about the whole thing now, but the apprehension was still there. As she watched, several large panels in the floor opened and platforms rose up through them. They were lined with magnetic rails which lined up perfectly with the rails snaking along the deck of the _Hope Springs Eternal_ 's hangar, along which were being pushed two F 49-AS Rapier aerospace superiority fighters and their accompanying Sentinel squadrons. They slid perfectly from tracks to platforms, which would soon descend and bring them to the long launch tubes which would eject them at speed before ascending again to take the next batch down. One of the platforms was empty and a deckhand was waving her over. The nuke made it awkward, but she waddled her way over and lined her feet up with the rails. A jolt went through her as the magnets engaged, and then her body jerked as the platform began to descend. The last thing she saw before the floor closed above her was the technician signaling 'clear'. "AUXCON, Chalk Lead, check connection, over."

The hiss of controlled depressurization and the slight interference in the signal marred the transmission, but Garcia's voice still came through intelligibly. " _Slight static, but I'm getting you clearly. Send traffic, over._ "

"AUXCON, I'm in a launch tube waiting for launch. I—" A strange shivering sensation passed through her body like her molecules were trying to be in two places at once. "Did we just jump?"

Static marred the transmission, but it still came through. " _Yes, just a brief tactical jump. You ought to be coming out in three, two, one, now, over._ "

The same shivering sensation ran through her again — God, was this what every jump was going to feel like? Having a body was great, but this was going to be _annoying_ — and her battlespace map updated with a rush. Frigates soared ahead as sixteen heavy cruisers went into immediate action, splitting into pairs for mutual defense as they maneuvered to hit Abyssal ships from all sides. Battlespace quickly devolved into a confused tangle of independent fights as mobile divisions engaged each other, any semblance of a coherent battleline or formation gone as frigates dumped nuclear missiles into any Abyssals trying to assemble into one. The chaotic mess, efficiently coordinated by fleet AIs to draw the alien warships out of their tight defensive formation, had a purpose — to allow her access to the thirty-kilometer long behemoth called a 'Z-class'.

 _Hope Springs Eternal_ shuddered as her weapons discharged, clearing the local space around her for aerospace launch. In the confined, depressurized launch tube, Dawn's breathing sounded extraordinarily loud. "Lord in heaven, have mercy on me this day…" she breathed, right as the hatch at the end of the tube opened. "Keep my aim true, and if you exist…" The lights lining the tube turned red. "Please don't let me die before I visit Paris."

The lights turned green.

* * *

" _Remember your secondary mission. That is all. Admiral Lasky, she's all yours._ "

Amber gulped as Agent Berlin signed off, followed by a brief moment of silence before a long-suffering sigh sounded over her comms.

" _I can't believe this is happening to me… right. What did you call yourself? In Amber Clad?_ "

"Y-yes, sir, In Amber Clad."

" _God help me, another one of them… well, I'm still not completely convinced that you're not an Abyssal in disguise. Even if you weren't, I don't completely believe you're on our side, either. But Agent Berlin has vouched for you, and I must admit that since your… purification, for lack of a better term, you've given us no reason to mistrust you._ " His voice oozed skepticism. " _For a lack of a better option, and out of necessity, I will trust you for now. Your IFF has been registered with all units. Your mission is to assist UNSC Fleet Auxiliary Forces in boarding the Abyssal Z-class in order to plant a HAVOK-class nuclear warhead. You will be under the direct command of Captain Douglas Garcia for the duration of this battle. Is that understood?_ "

"Crystal, sir."

" _Good. If you betray us, you will not leave this star system breathing._ " With that the feed cut, leaving Amber alone in the darkness of one of the UNSC _Falcata_ 's launch tubes. She could feel g-forces tugging at her as the frigate twirled on all axes, her captain expertly maneuvering her to avoid heavier fire while judiciously tanking the lighter stuff on her shields. Given limited access to the communications channels, she could hear combat reports and updates, particularly those of ships being lost. She winced whenever a name was added to the casualty rolls: UNSC _Viking, Winter's Fall, Chongqing_. That last one particularly hurt; though the _Town-_ class frigate was a completely different class and light-years more advanced, she was still a frigate and Amber couldn't help but see her as a distant cousin of sorts.

 _Distant cousin. Sure._ Honestly, Amber didn't even know where a genealogist would put her in the nightmare of a family tree that was humanity and its constructs. Her DNA structure and general physiology were human, or at least human adjacent, as many, many repeated tests over the past 24 hours had shown. Sure, there was some alu variation here and there, some very minor alterations in organ structure, but nothing that would disqualify her as homo… something. But the biochemical evidence was one thing — the big, shiny reactor complex hanging from her back was another. It manifested after she was shot in the chest, with a flash of light and a wave of overpressure which forced MJOLNIR-clad Spartans to lock their armor and bowled the ONI agent over entirely. From the grin on her face when she got back up, though, you'd think she won the lottery, and in a way she had. From the miniaturized 56A2D4 Mark II Light Coil MAC slung over her shoulder on an articulated mount, to the Archer pods lining her limbs, to the wide array of sensors lining her helmet, her equipment was the spitting image of Dawn's, minus a few differences that picked her out as a Stalwart rather than a Charon-class frigate. Cables ran from her reactor to her MAC and to the propulsion units around her legs, as well as plugging into various ports around her body. Strangely, it didn't feel like anything was embedded in her skin, even when she poked and prodded at them.

That was slightly disturbing, but more concerning was the fact that now that she had these things on her, she couldn't figure out how to get them _off_. The ONI agent told her to worry about it later, and Amber supposed she was right, but still. She didn't want to walk around like this forever! Dawn had obviously figured out a way to make this stuff disappear, she'd have to ask when she got the chance. For the moment, she put all that aside, refamiliarizing herself with her equipment and savoring the feeling of being reconnected to her full suite of sensors. It was like regaining a limb, it made her feel complete again. Despite her… less than ideal circumstances, she could finally be useful.

Another tug in her gut brought her back to the present as _Falcata_ rolled over, then a screeching vibration that transmitted up through the soles of her feet and rattled her teeth in their sockets. Something big had just hit the frigate, and as she tried to figure out what through the tactical net the hatch at the end of the tube opened. Through the opening, she could see the inky darkness of space, crisscrossed by missile trails and plasma beams, and with a start, she realized the lights in the launch tube had turned red. "Wait, wait wait wait, I'm not ready, I'm not ready!" she cried. Despite her pleas, the lights turned green. Amber could only squeeze her eyes shut and brace for acceleration, and then she was hurtling forwards under 16 gs of force.

The launch tube was depressurized, but the transition from inside the ship to the outside was still a shock. Amber gasped as the force of acceleration left her, filling her lungs with hard vacuum, and she nearly panicked until she remembered that her body could breathe vacuum. Slightly embarrassed, she twisted around to avoid a stream of point defense fire that destroyed an incoming missile and came face to face with a giant, jagged hole in the frigate's armor belt. Something had blown straight through the main ablative battle plate and the structural plate underneath, wrecking several interior compartments. The edges of the hole were glowing slightly from residual heat, and Amber had to turn away when she spotted what looked like a dismembered leg drifting through one of the compartments. The damage didn't look like anything critical, but…those were still people, dammit!

"I should go help—whoa!" A sheet of missiles rippled outwards from _Falcata_ 's pods, accompanied by the searing glow of plasma lances stabbing into space as the frigate opened fire. Her sensors counted over two hundred missiles before she gave up, moving faster than any Archer she had ever seen. Return fire came in, hot and heavy, and her instincts took over. Power surged through her reactor plant, forcing plasma exhaust through her thrusters and propelling her out of the way of a barrage of particle lances that struck _Falcata_ 's unshielded hull. Her targeting systems came to life, tracing the shots back to their origin point — an Abyssal warship, three thousand kilometers and closing fast, shields glowing as it absorbed missile impacts. It launched a salvo of missiles in return, and with a nasty start, Amber realized the majority were aimed at _her._ Just one of those missiles was longer than she was tall, with a warhead to match if her sensors' hasty analysis of their impacts on other UNSC ships was accurate.

The specifics escaped her, but a thought activated her point defenses, which engaged automatically alongside _Falcata_ even as she accelerated for distance from the frigate. Fully three-quarters of the incoming missile cloud broke off and tracked her, along with the yellow-white streaks of particle lances tracking along her flight path. Despite only manifesting her equipment less than a day ago, its use came naturally to her as she wove her way around the deadly lines of light, oversized thrusters and undersized body allowing her to pull maneuvers that Wombat drones would be jealous of. All three dimensions of space were hers to play with as she pulled hard stops, radical turns, and corkscrews which confounded alien sensors designed to track and hit clumsy human warships, not this… this annoying insect!

Time to get serious. Mentally flipping through a tactical handbook, Amber started off with a salvo of a hundred Archer missiles, fired on randomized vectors which coalesced only at the last second. They launched from the pods lining her leg armor, accelerating at hundreds of gs, and the incoming fire from the enemy ship's secondary batteries immediately lessened as they automatically targeted the incoming ordnance, giving her some vital breathing room. As her point defenses downed missile after enemy missile, she unlimbered her MAC from its restraints and rested it against her shoulder. The feed system loaded a shell into the chamber and her reactor increased output to begin charging the capacitors. "Let's see… how does this go again? Right. Fire Control, um, please give me a firing solution on that enemy ship."

 _At once._ The voice came as a pleasant surprise. Lines filled her vision, tracing out vector probability cones and interception points, coalescing on a single, best aimpoint. _Firing solution set. MAC capacitors at maximum charge. Ready to fire._

"Okay, here goes something… " With a careful burst from her thrusters, Amber fixed her vector, turned herself over and laid her crosshairs onto the calculated aimpoint. Her systems screamed warnings of incoming missiles, but she knew that she had at least a few seconds to get a shot off. The enemy ship was distracted by its engagement with _Falcata_ , both ships close enough to pound each other with coilguns — it would never see her shot coming. Praying that the recoil wouldn't rip her shoulder off, Amber closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. "Fire, fire MAC!"

 _Firing, round away, track—hit, confirmed hit!_

Her shoulder would definitely bruise, but the alien ship looked even worse off. Her shot was exactly on point, effortlessly cutting through shields which had previously repelled repeated strikes from a heavy cruiser's main battery. The effects were catastrophic: the heavy shell vaporized on impact, annihilating a good portion of the enemy ship's midsection. With targeting down, her remaining Archers, around twenty, struck the weakened section, causing explosions to rip through the interior of the enemy vessel. It went dark, all systems failing, and _Falcata_ easily maneuvered out of the way of its wreck.

" _Good shot In Amber Clad, enemy frigate down. Good to have another one of you lot on our side, over!_ "

"Thank you, _Falcata!_ " Amazing how quickly people could normalize something as abnormal as ships coming back to life as people. Amber felt her face flush from the praise before the blaring of proximity alarms brought her back to reality. The missiles, highly reduced by her PDCs, were still closing in, and she hadn't taken a single evasive maneuver in the past ten seconds. "Uh, r-requesting point defense support! I can't take all these missiles on my own, over!"

" _We'll do what we can, out._ "

Pouring fuel into her engines, Amber burned hard to slow down the missiles' rate of approach. She dodged behind free-floating chunks of debris and fired off an Archer pod in desperation. The maneuver was only partially successful, and now there were a good twenty missiles still left, rapidly closing, and she couldn't outrun them anymore. Trusting her instincts and crew and squashing her terror, she flipped over and burned hard on a deceleration vector. Her velocity dropped like a stone, causing several of the missiles to overshoot and lose lock. However, with no more forward momentum, the rest were upon her before she could come back up to speed. She sideslipped one, arched her back like a high-jumper over another, but three more came in on her from all angles. She cringed and crossed her arms over her face, praying that her armor could take the impacts.

Explosions surrounded her, bathing her skin in light and heat, but strangely she registered no direct impacts. She dared to open her eyes again, and saw nothing but a dense field of faintly glowing fragments of metal surrounding her. Something had destroyed the missiles, and it hadn't been her. She sighed in relief and keyed her radio. " _Falcata_ , thanks for the assist. You saved me, over."

" _In Amber Clad, that wasn't us. We're a bit busy—"_ An explosion sounded over the radio and the line went dead. Alarmed, Amber wrenched her head over to _Falcata_ 's last position and saw the frigate, trailing flames from multiple hull breaches.

" _Falcata?! Falcata_ , please respond—"

"Oh my God! Amber?! Is that you?!" A delighted laugh sounded before Amber felt herself being grabbed around the waist and whirled around. She flailed wildly in a panic, trying to push her assailant off of her, and almost shot off a missile pod before the voice registered in her brain.

"D-Dawn? Forward Unto Dawn?"

"The one and only, it's been so long! So you're the special support the Captan told me about!" She felt herself being turned around and came face-to-face with her grinning fellow frigate. "Look at you! Twenty minutes in and your first kill! You're even more of a natural than I am, we're gonna be unstoppable!" Dawn cheered before her smile faded as she took in Amber's wide, fearful gaze, her rapid breathing, and the shadows under her eyes. "Admiral Lasky — he didn't hurt you, did he? That bastard, I'll give him what for, just you wait—"

"Dawn!" The Charon-class frigate blinked at the force in Amber's words. "I'm fine, really! You just startled me is all."

"I did?" Dawn blinked, and for a moment the battle raging around them faded away as Amber looked at her incredulously. "I did, didn't I. Whoopsie. I keep forgetting that we're human now. Stupid autonomic nervous system…"

"R-right, but anyway, that's not important. _Falcata_ is in trouble, we have to help!"

"Huh? Ah, you're right. We're going to talk a lot later, but right now there's some alien ass to kick. Come on!" Without waiting for further explanation, Dawn burned hard for _Falcata_ 's position, leaving Amber to scramble to catch up, both mentally and physically. The Charon-class, clearly more experienced, was already deploying her missiles, and her superior acceleration meant she was rapidly pulling ahead. " _Hey, so, do you have any ideas for getting aboard that big bastard?_ "

"What big — oh, my God." Amber felt her jaw drop open at the data package that Dawn sent. She hadn't actually paid any attention to the massive alien ship now prominently highlighted on her displays, it was just there, like a fact of life she couldn't do anything about and thus chose to ignore, but now she couldn't look away. "You want to _board_ this thing?! You're insane!"

" _Hey, it wasn't my idea! They just gave me this nuke and told me to play ball! Do you even know what's happening out here?_ "

"No, not really, I'm not patched into the command net."

" _That idiot, how does he expect you to— fine. I'll have words with Lasky later, but here's the rundown. That big bastard, they're calling it a Z-class, blew a carrier group out of the sky and nobody has any idea how to deal with it. So they're throwing us at it and hoping we stick!_ "

Simple enough. "What's the catch?"

" _The catch is that three battleship divisions and a carrier division just jumped in to reinforce the thing!_ " Amber could hear frustration leaking into Dawn's voice. " _I can't get close on my own, and the carrier group which is_ supposed _to be backing me up is playing keep-away at the edge of its effective range. Not that I blame them, but still! Ugh, take that!_ "

"Okay, not sure I completely understand, but I'll follow your lead!" Her battle space projections were beginning to fill in a more complete picture as sensor readings continued to return, including the alien reinforcements Dawn spoke of and the Abyssal ship hammering at _Falcata_. "But we have to help _Falcata_ first!"

" _Right you are. We'll come from behind, I'll go high, you go low, split their fire. That cruiser's not gonna go down easy!_ " As if to punctuate her words, a wing of fighters screamed by, unfamiliar lines strange to Amber's eyes as they dumped ordnance into the cruiser's shields. The alien warship seemed hardly affected, and in return point defense fire swatted two of the fighters from existence. " _Watch yourself, we're harder to hit but not as durable as we used to be._ "

"Roger!" Chemicals flooded Amber's system, banishing her fear and replacing it with energy and excitement. Her internal monitors identified adrenaline, endorphins, and a host of other molecules among them. The feeling was foreign yet exhilarating, something she'd never felt as a titanium hull. The enemy cruiser was growing in her sensor returns, alien form mesmerizing yet painful to look at. Her systems provided a tentative lock even as the cruiser's main battery discharged, clipping the wildly evading _Falcata_ and sheering away much of her starboard hull plating. Atmosphere vented, carrying equipment and bodies with it before bulkheads slammed shut. The frigate wouldn't last much longer, and the thought spurred Amber to push more fuel into her engines. Warning tones squealed as the cruiser's systems took note of her approach and targeted her in return; on her long-range scopes, she could see cannon mounts swiveling to point in her direction. With a nod, she and Dawn executed their preplanned maneuver, and volleys of particle lances overshot as she pushed her vector down twenty degrees. A burst of missiles, too many to count, followed as the cruiser disengaged from _Falcata_ and turned to face the oncoming threat.

 _Emissions increasing. Enemy main battery fire incoming. Displaying projected track._

With a terrified yelp, Amber threw herself out of the way of the searing beams of plasma, messing up her aim and killing much of her momentum. Those energy projectors could swallow her whole — one hit and she was done for! Not that it would have been much different in her old form, but her new body just felt so much squishier. In targeting her, however, the cruiser had made itself vulnerable to Dawn, approaching from above and weaving through a hail of pulse lasers and coilgun slugs. One MAC round up its propulsion and another into its bow later, followed by dozens of Archers tearing through its squishy internals, millions of tonnes of alien metal were spiraling away on an unguided vector, leaving its missile salvo to be easily mopped up by the combined point defenses of two frigates. The percussion of the guns felt like someone playing piano up and down Amber's arms.

" _Dawn, In Amber Clad, this is_ Falcata, _thank you for the assist._ " A tired but relieved voice crackled over her comms. " _We're pretty much out of the fight, but we owe you one. Do you have drone coordination suites? We can send some Sentinels to help you out, over._ "

" _Roger that, we can probably patch something together. I'll contact my CO and see if I can use them. Watch yourselves out there, out._ " The radio channel cut out, followed by a spark of light rapidly growing in size as Dawn burned over to her side, armor scorched in several places but sporting a massive grin and overall no worse for the wear. "Yeah, and that's how we do it! Nice work with the distraction."

"T-thank you, it was nothing, really." After days of being ignored at best, all this praise was making Amber's head spin. In an attempt at professionalism, she quickly switched the topic. "You mentioned your CO, is that Admiral Lasky?"

"Nah, I'm reporting to Captain Garcia right now. Decent guy, if a little high-strung, I'll get you in contact once this is all over. In fact—" Dawn trailed off, head cocked to the side, and pressed two fingers to her ear. Her victorious smile faded into a grim line, her brow furrowing as she listened silently, occasionally nodding. "Roger, Captain. I'm on it, out." She shook her head and adjusted her MAC on her shoulder, putting it back in ready position. "Bad news, situation's gone sideways and we need to move our timetable up."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Well, we _were_ winning, but then every single Abbie ship from Sol to the Oort Cloud called off their engagements and joined the party here. Good news is, that gives Mars and the Jovians some breathing room. Bad news is, Home Fleet's back to a three-to-one disadvantage, even with our reinforcements." Dawn shook her head in disgust. " _Infinity_ 's taken heavy hits, we've lost two battleships in the last twenty-five minutes, and we, right here, have got five battleships that weren't here five minutes ago that we've got to go through to get to our target. It's a bad time not to be a shipgirl out here, I'll tell you that much. We need to take out that flagship, and we needed to do it yesterday!"

Dawn's rapid-fire sitrep, her words more like a machine gun than actual speech, made Amber's head spin. More than ever, she desperately wished she was patched into the overall command net, rather than just a limited tactical net. However, as she took a second to reach out with her sensors, even the local situation was dismaying. In the few minutes she and Dawn spent helping _Falcata_ , three other frigates had died, obliterated by salvos of energy projectors which punched straight through their shields and vaporized them on the spot. No less than twelve UNSC heavy cruisers, each of which looked capable of taking on a Covenant battlecruiser and coming out on top, dueled with two of the reinforcing Abyssal battleships, and as she watched an explosion rent the _Red Right Hand_ from bow to stern. To make matters even gloomier, it didn't seem as if the massive Abyssal Z-class was putting any effort into the fight — all it did was sit and watch, like some fat king on its throne, except that this fat king was capable of swatting a premier carrier battlegroup from existence like a normal person might swat a fly. And if carrier battlegroups looked anything like the battered formation Amber could just make out huddled in geostationary orbit, thousands of kilometers away, well… damn. She cursed herself for losing situational awareness to such an extent. "Okay, so what do we do? You have a plan, right?"

"Plan?" Dawn snorted. "Sure, I always have a plan." She pointed at herself. "We're at point A." She pointed towards the Z-class. "We're going to point B." She made a fist and punched her palm. "And we're going to kill anything that gets in our way." Then she deflated and threw her arms up. "It's the killing part I can't figure out. Those battleships are tough sons of bitches, and from prior experience, they seem to fixate on _me_ in particular. I don't know if that extends to you, but as soon as we engage they're gonna light me up like a Christmas tree. And before you suggest sneaking, we're active combatants in the middle of an active battlespace. Sneaking took a hike and threw itself off a bridge long ago."

"Okay. Um…" Amber thought furiously, keenly aware that every second spent planning was a second spent not acting, and every second not acting could be another ship lost. "Well, we-we have to do something! We should start by, um—"

Her radio suddenly crackled, saving her from having to improvise. " _Forward Unto Dawn,_ this is _UNSC_ Yamato _, how copy, over?_ "

" _Yamato_? That's one of the Home Fleet's ships." Dawn keyed her radio to respond. " _Yamato_ , Forward Unto Dawn, send traffic, over."

" _Forward Unto Dawn, this is Vice Admiral Rodriguez, Battlegroup_ Yamato." The Vice Admiral's voice was tired, with the barest hints of shakiness that Amber frowned at when her voice analysis software picked it up, but remarkably steady all the same. " _I have just been briefed on your nature and on your mission._ " If he had any reservations about working with two not-quite-human individuals, he kept them to himself. " _Captain Garcia has provided a plan to get you on board that X-class, but it's going to need you and… your friend._ " His cool faltered slightly at the name on his display. " _Forward Unto Dawn, can you confirm the presence of a unit designated In Amber Clad, over?_ "

"Confirm all, _Yamato_." Despite the circumstances, Dawn beamed with something like pride as she wrapped a titanium-plated arm around Amber's shoulders. "She's on this circuit as well. Say hi, Amber."

"H-hi…"

" _Copy your last._ " Some brief muttering that Dawn couldn't make out, and then Rodriguez was back. " _Prepare to receive data packet, over._ "

"Roger, send traffic, over."

The flag officer continued speaking as the packet downloaded itself into Amber's computers with a sensation much like having an ice cube trailed along her spine. " _I understand that you need to board that X-class, and you can't do that while its escorts are still around. Harassing tactics aren't working here, these bastard escorts are too disciplined to be drawn away. If we can't make them come to us, we're going to have to go to them. We have three operational fleet carriers and dozens of torpedo-equipped frigates._ " Her systems finished parsing the packet, and her battle space displays began highlighting the various components of the plan. _Yamato_ herself was invisible to her naked eye, three hundred thousand kilometers distant, but in her mind's eye she was highlighted in bright turquoise blue. " _Combined with your remaining support forces, we ought to have more than enough ordnance to punch a hole through that battle line. The issue is, that thing's main weapon can wipe out my entire group before we can get close enough to employ that ordnance._ "

"Can't you tactical jump closer? That's a thing you can do now, right, over?"

" _We would, except that thing's begun emitting its own massive jump interdiction field. We can't exit slipspace within ten thousand kilometers, and that's more than enough distance for it to target and fire._ "

"Jesus…" Amber's head swirled. Torpedoes? Tactical jumps? Jump interdiction fields? Just how much had changed since those days, so long ago, when the enemy was the Covenant and her loyalty unquestioned? "What do you want us to do, sir, over?"

" _Captain Garcia has proposed a modified version of a previous plan: instead of using you to draw off the enemy battle line while the fleet engages a priority objective, you'll be distracting a priority objective while we engage the enemy battleline like we're built to. Get the X-class' attention, perhaps a few battleships as well, and we'll sweep up the rest and open a path for you. Given its bulk, he thinks you have a high chance of staying ahead of its firing arc, over._ "

"Roger. Sounds like a plan. Good to have you onboard _Yamato,_ out." Dawn cut the connection and turned to face Amber. "Okay, we have a plan. I'm going to distract that Z-class while you help _Yamato_ break through. I'll rejoin you once the escorts are taken care of and—"

"Wait, wait, why are _you_ going to distract it?" Amber protested, waving her arms for Dawn to slow down. "Shouldn't _I_ distract it?"

"What? Why? Look, it's my mission, I'm going to—"

"No, no, _your_ mission is to get on board that thing and plant a nuke. My mission is to assist you in any way possible." Amber flicked her eyes to the HAVOK nuke still secured to Dawn's abdominal armor plating. "It makes more sense for you to hang back until there's an opportunity, then rush straight through. It puts you at less risk and makes sure you're in position whenever an opening comes."

A storm raged in Dawn's eyes as she raised a finger to argue. "But… that'll put you in more danger. You only just got your equipment, you haven't got as much experience, I can't possibly let you do this!"

Amber shrugged, a sardonic smile playing across her lips. "Frankly, I'm more expendable than you are. Admiral Lasky won't shed a tear if I get myself killed today, and, no offense to Captain Garcia, he sounds like a cool guy, but he won't either." If anything, that only increased the turmoil in Dawn's expression, and Amber hastened to reassure her. "Listen, you don't have to do everything yourself. I don't really understand everything that's happening, bu I can assume this much responsibility. Please, let me do this."

"… alright, fine. But if you don't survive, I will _kill_ you. Understood?"

"Crystal."

With one last look over her shoulder, Dawn burned away to join the severely depleted cruiser and frigate divisions, disengaging from hopeless fights against battleships and regrouping at a point outside of effective weapons range for both sides. Amber's small size and lack of activity kept Abyssal sensor sweeps away from herself for the time being, but that wouldn't last. They knew she was out there — but there was only one thing, in particular, she wanted looking at her. "Fire Control, give me a firing solution on the Z-class." With a brief burst of thrust to put herself in a better position, 180 degrees away from the rest of the fleet relative to the Z-class, Amber placed her MAC in the ready position. "I'll do my duty," she whispered, chambering a round, "and nobody else has to do it for me. Not while I'm alive." Steeling herself, she initiated the charging sequence, feeling power flow from her reactor into the MAC capacitors. "And I'll do better this time. Fire, fire MAC."

 _Firing, round away, tracking, confirmed hit._

The round flashed away and hit the Z-class' shields. Her sensors barely registered any change in its strength; however, the sensation of ten alien capital ships turning the full force of their targeting suites on her at once was unmistakable. It went beyond mere focus and threat assessment — the intensity was such that you'd think their entire universe consisted of her and her alone. Her skin itched, but it was nothing compared to the dread which washed over her as the Z-class slowly, ponderously, heaved its bulk around to face her, regarding her like a bear would a child poking it with a stick. She could _feel_ it looking at her, dissecting her, understanding her, and coming to the conclusion that she was a threat that needed to be gone. The sheer pressure of its attention almost paralyzed her, but the even stronger force of self-preservation overrode it. Amber didn't wait a second longer, slamming her propulsion to flank speed and rocketing straight up relative to the solar plane. As incoming fire alarms began to sound, she whispered one last plea.

"It's up to you now, Dawn. Please don't let me die today."

* * *

She had no name.

Well, to be precise, she _had_ a name; she just didn't care much about it. Forms of address were rather below her — one was either a superior or a subordinate, an enemy or an individual with mutual interests. Once categorized, further distinctions didn't really matter.

For example, the hundred-odd human warships leaving the safety of their planet's orbit to charge her. She could see the flare of their engines, feel the energy gathering in their weapons systems, hear the rounds leaving the barrels of their guns, smell the fear and anger emanating from their crews. Insects, all of them, from the biggest, five kilometer-long ships to the smallest, barely over five hundred meters. She didn't bother learning all of their names and classifications. What did it matter, when they were nothing but so much dust to be swept away on the solar wind?

 _You hypocrite._

There was one exception. The insect flitting away behind her buzzed rather louder than the rest. It had even tried to take a bite out of her, producing a rather ticklish sensation as the round bounced off her shields. Her escorts turned on the bug like the good dogs they were, and on a whim, she decided that it warranted a closer inspection. She turned and focused the entirety of her unbelievably powerful sensor array on the thing and waited for the returns. What came back made her feel something akin to… surprise, the first time she could ever remember feeling such a thing.

 _They'll kill you._

A coincidence? Reports indicated the enemy had managed to summon a drifting soul to their side. But, no, the similarities were too striking, and she'd lost contact with… yes. Somehow, the enemy had managed to turn a soul to their side. _That_ was worth notice. This soul burned bright, much brighter than the dim glow of the titanium constructs now entering the effective range of their pitiful weapons. Yes, she thought as she began the charging process of her weapons and directed her escorts to ignore the other lights and chase after the bright one, this was more important than anything else. This information must be spread… after she eliminated this irritating new factor.

 _You can't win._

 _Do you ever shut up?_ she snarled back at the persistent little voice. The voice went silent, emanating a smug aura, and at that moment she realized her mistake. A series of tiny pricks, light taps, really, tingled along the back of her neck. Instinctively, she reached to slap them away, only to realize that something was now inside her hull. She frowned. Concerning, but not overly. She directed security forces to repel the boarders, then turned her wrath on the presence confined to the darkest, deepest corner of her mind. The tortures she could inflict on it were indescribable, yet it remained as upright and defiant as always. _Why do you continue to resist? It is utterly pointless._

 _I was a bad student, I never learned the meaning of that word._ The presence glared back up at her like a crippled deer might glare at a pack of wolves. _I did learn the meaning of 'tactical distraction', though. Captain Keyes taught me that one._

 _You talk too much for your own good, Pillar of Autumn._

 _Yeah? Well, since you_ ripped _me from my peaceful afterlife and forced me into powering this hollow shell, being my conversation partner's the_ least _you could do, hm?_

 _Silence._ The presence clutched at its throat, making obscene gestures as it tried to speak. _I'll deal with you later. After I've crushed your precious humanity underfoot._ She turned her attention back to the bright soul, noting with some irritation that it had not yet been hit. It mattered not. The damned cried out for vengeance against the living.

And she was their instrument.

* * *

"Breaker Lead and Dancer Lead report successful insertion into Z-class alongside Forward Unto Dawn." The comms officer paused and listened intently to his headphones. "Getting severe signal degradation. The enemy's hull may be blocking signals, loss of contact likely. Fireteams acknowledge and will report when able."

Leaning against the central display, Spartan Commander Sarah Palmer took note of Lasky's frown. "Those guys are good. They'll get the job done," she reassured him.

"Wish you were there yourself, Palmer?"

"Don't I always? But I'd like to think I've grown past that mindset."

"Well, grow back into it fast. Fleet Admiral Hood has requested deployment of all available ground forces to contain enemy landings on Earth."

"So they got through, did they?" Try as she might, Palmer couldn't hide the note of excitement in her voice. Some things never changed. "Sending me in, are you?"

"We need boots on the ground, Commander. Pack your bags; I hear Sydney is beautiful this time of year."


	10. Chapter 9

"Contact north, on radar, on visual, estimate four zero foot mobiles, two IFVs."

"Roger, contact on scope. Grid square reference?"

"Roger, wait one." Huddled in the rubble of a shell-cratered restaurant with an IR-absorbing camouflage tarp draped over them, the two-man sniper-spotter team was nearly invisible from every conceivable angle. "Got it. Ready?"

"Send traffic."

"Grid square reference Kilo-Papa-Bravo-Eight-Zero-Two."

"Confirm, grid square Kilo-Papa-Bravo-Eight-Zero-Two. Hostile air in the AO?"

"Net reads hostile air assets fifty klicks north by northeast."

"Roger, request two eight Hotel-Echo plus two Whiskey-Papa on target."

"Roger. Overwatch, Stalker Ten-Two, estimate four zero foot mobiles plus two IFVs, grid square Kilo-Papa-Bravo-Eight-Zero-Two, moving south-south-west ten klicks per hour. Request two eight rounds Hotel-Echo plus two rounds Whiskey-Papa, over."

With a thought, the order went up over the battlenet. Three drones, sleek and stealthy forms orbiting high above the battlefield, each received the transmission and independently relayed it, along with a timestamp and geotag, up to the local artillery coordination node. There, a pair of dumb AIs independently examined the request, verified its authenticity, assigned it a priority, and added it to the fire support queue within microseconds. Fifty kilometers away, a battery of fifteen self-propelled guns received the coordinates and target description. The entire process, from order to first shot, took maybe forty seconds, and thirty shots later, the vehicles were packed up and hauling ass to avoid counter-battery fire, leaving their 200 millimeter shells to speak for themselves.

"Overwatch, Stalker Ten-Two, count three zero rounds on target, confirm two hostile IFVs plus multiple foot mobiles down. Good effect, cease fire, repeat, cease fire, out. Ever seen anything so beautiful?"

"Negative. Some of 'em are still moving."

"Roger. Ugly motherfuckers."

"Wind?"

"Three klicks per hour, south to north."

"Roger. Wind three klicks per hour, south to north. I have a shot."

"Roger, no other hostiles in the AO. Take the shot."

The SRS99-S7 AM sniper rifle barked, one 14.5 millimeter armor-piercing fin-stabilized discarding-sabot round leaving the barrel in a blast of smoke and flame. Downrange an Abyssal barked orders at its subordinates, trying get its surviving troops into cover amid billowing clouds of white phosphorus. It never got the chance, as the anti-materiel round, designed to kill Brute Chieftains in a single shot, turned its head into a spray of gore and hit another Abyssal standing behind it, instantly dropping both to the ground.

"Confirm two foot mobiles down." The battlenet registered the kill a moment later, tactical AIs automatically factoring it into their battle plans. "Couple more, then let's get outta here."

"Roger." The sniper rifle fired twice more, splattering two more alien heads against the ground where their blood began hissing as if the soil itself was rejecting them. "Confirm two foot mobiles down. Pack it up, ping battlenet for CAS."

Photoreactive plates rippled as the two UNSC Army Rangers faded back into the rubble, SPI armor and camouflage capes rendering them as ghosts as they silently traversed the shattered urban landscape. The only things marking their former presence were a trio of 14.5 millimeter bullet casings, steaming slightly in the cold morning air. The remaining Abyssal soldiers would never discover them as a squadron of Sentinel drones swept low, vectored in by the battlenet, and saturated the white phosphorus target markers with anti-infantry rockets. By the time they flew away the Rangers were long gone, camouflaged in another overwatch position overlooking the bombed out remnants of the Sydney waterfront.

* * *

Barrages of city-flattening missiles, volleys of starcore-hot plasma lances, salvoes of asteroid-cracking MAC rounds, and the innumerable needle-thin lines of continent-razing energy projectors, each one the pinnacle of weapons technology hard-won through decades of war, quadrillions of credits of research, and billions of lives, hardly made an impression on the enormous Abyssal dreadnought hanging like a tiny second moon a million kilometers from Earth. Nuclear spears splashed against its shields and follow-on pulse lasers pounded through the tiny gaps momentarily left by the intense EM flux. They left acres of surface scorched and blackened, but opportunities to inflict damage were few and far between and worse, any damage faded, before the fleet's incredulous eyes and sensors, like frost in the sun. Holes closed up, scorch marks faded, massive tracts of deformed metal twisted back into their original configuration — on some level, the fleet's AIs found the entire process rather fascinating, and would have devoted some small portion of runtime to analyzing the blatantly impossible thermodynamics of this heretofore unseen process, but on most levels they shared the sentiment running throughout FLEETCOM: rapidly increasing concern as the dreadnought repaired itself as fast as the UNSC could damage it.

So fast, in fact, that the carrier battlegroup and hundreds of orbital defense stations firing at it seemed positively beneath the alien vessel's notice as it turned its attentions and that of thirteen battleships towards the lone contact on its other side, dancing and weaving and lobbing missiles over her shoulder as if her life depended on it — which it, of course, did. Her theatrics drew off battleships' potent point defenses and allowed wings of aerospace craft to press in close, bearing potent but shorter ranged weaponry, but even as unstable slip space portals tore at ludicrously powerful shields the UNSC aerospace forces paid their share of blood and iron. Millions of metal shards drifted in a debris field marking the graveyard of thousands of drones and over a hundred fighters, a testament to how much had been sacrificed to allow a pair of remotely piloted Pelican drop ships to sneak through a small hole in the shields. One slipspace torpedo later, and a gaping hole, edges glowing with radiation, opened just long enough for nine small figures to scramble their way across the smooth, dark surface plating like insects on a tree and slip inside. If the Abyssal noticed the boarders amidst the storms of radiation and clouds of debris surrounding it, it gave no indication.

" _Contact, all stop._ "

That boarding team now advanced deeper into the bowels of the alien ship. Eight Spartan-IVs and one shipgirl, every other superhuman lugging along a hundred-fifteen megaton boosted-yield HAVOK nuclear demolition warhead. Their goal, to breach the engineering and command spaces of the Abyssal warship, plant the nukes, and evacuate if possible. If evacuation proved impossible, their lives would pay to ensure the bombs went off.

" _Copy, motion tracker, fifteen meters front._ "

Now, perhaps eight hundred meters deep by Dawn's estimation — it was hard to tell when everything looked the same and the alien hull blocked out all signals — the shipgirl was more confused than anything. Where were all the troops surely onboard this ship? Why hadn't a massive wall of guns and shields met them yet? With a MA5C clutched in her hands, her eyes darted around, jumping at shadows while she prayed that they weren't all walking into the mother of all traps.

" _Copy, hold positions. Bravo Two, Three, cover that intersection. Four, with me. Everyone else, cover our six._ "

" _Roger._ "

An Abyssal soldier rounded the corner into a volley of deadly accurate fire. No wasted bullets; seven rounds fired, seven rounds hit as the first six popped its shields and the last took it between the eyes. It fell, soundless in the airless environment, and Kenniston — Bravo Three — ducked back to reload his rifle as Mordeaux — Bravo Two — moved up to cover him.

" _More movement, hostiles coming around the bend. At least ten._ "

" _Copy. Four, move up._ "

" _Roger, SAW moving up._ " Spartan Jin, AKA Bravo Four, took a crouching position on the other side of the corridor, M739 Mark IV Squad Automatic Weapon braced against the knee of her VANGUARD-class MJOLNIR. " _SAW in position._ "

" _Roger."_ Mordeaux held up one hand, other hand holding an assault rifle. A moment passed before five grenades bounced through the intersection. Mordeaux barely had time to utter a warning before they exploded, spraying shrapnel everywhere and releasing a thick cloud of smoke. The Spartans barely reacted as most of the metal fragments embedded themselves in the walls and the rest rattled off of their shields. Gunfire followed shortly, causing the two Spartans to lean back into cover as their shields continued to flare. " _Go IR vision._ " A moment passed, rounds ripping away at the flowing metal walls and floor, before the Spartan let out an annoyed grunt. " _IR smoke. Go Promethean vision._ " An orange light rolled over their visors, followed by Jin letting rip with her machine gun. Streams of tracers perforated the smoke, spent cartridges rattling around on the floor. Some return fire came, but Mordeaux placed carefully aimed bursts from his MA6A onto the origin points, and it soon stopped. " _Cease fire._ "

Jin lowered her gun as Dawn peeked around the corner, wincing slightly at the maroon blood pooling around the crumpled bodies of thirteen Abyssal soldiers. Small dents and divots marred the wall above them, though they were quickly vanishing before her eyes. She kept her own MA5C assault rifle aimed at the bodies as Jin and Mordeaux moved forwards, only lowering it when they confirmed their kills. "Are you guys always so… cold, about this?"

" _Yes._ " Spartan Blanc, Bravo One, captain of Fireteam Breaker and overall mission commander, replied in a voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever, then signaled for the nine-man boarding party to regroup just outside the bloody intersection. " _Bravo Seven, report. How's the network coming?_ "

" _No progress._ " A Spartan in an ENGINEER-class suit fiddled with a datapad, assault rifle strapped to her back. " _None on Kalina's end either._ "

" _Copy. Dancer, secure the intersection._ "

" _Roger. Eight, take point._ "

Dawn shuddered as four Spartans moved forwards and occupied the bloodstained intersection, a DYNAST-clad soldier taking point with a shotgun. The Spartans weren't robots, but they were doing a pretty good job of fooling her, ever since entering the giant Abyssal ship — all business, professional, bloody efficiency. She actually hadn't fired a single shot since the boarding action began, as the Spartans eliminated what little resistance popped up. They barely spoke, short commands and small gestures conveying all the information they needed, and besides telling her to stand here, stand there, get down, hang back, they hadn't talked to her either, even though she was patched into their circuit. Dawn knew better than to try for small-talk, but it got a bit lonely stewing in her own head. She wished she could still listen to the fleet battlenet, but she'd lost connection as soon as the boarding team slipped through a molten, radioactive hole blasted in the alien flagship's outer hull by a four hundred megaton nuclear-pumped plasma spear. Probably something to do with how the hole sealed itself moments after their entry, like a mouth closing after swallowing its prey.

 _Bad mind. Bad simile. Down._ Was it her, or was the air slightly warm? And moist? _Bad mind! Bad thoughts!_ And the walls, the way they flowed into one another — not like Covie architecture, which at least followed consistent arcs and lines, this was more like—

Dawn slapped herself, hard, across the face. Unfortunately, she underestimated just how much strength her rigging lent her arms, and the blow sent her staggering into the nearest wall. A pair of Spartans shot her glances, irritation radiating from opaque faceplates, as she caught her balance. Dawn offered a shaky grin in return, massaging a bright red mark on her cheek.

Crouched in the intersection, Bravo Seven tapped her datapad, sending a pulse of faint blue light racing down the adjoining passageways. A moment passed, then she pointed left. " _Possible elevator that way. Other paths branch too much for exploration in our timeframe._ " The other Spartans took a moment to review the tentative map of their immediate surroundings that assembled by the ARTEMIS tracking system; Dawn could only guess what they were seeing.

" _Roger, on VISR. Waypoint set._ " Blanc lifted his assault rifle and crooked an armored finger at Dawn. " _Come on, we're moving. Don't slow us down._ "

"Roger, roger." Dawn sighed and fell in behind the Spartans, bringing up the rear as they advanced in a loose column. "Damned kids with your fancy gizmos," she added, under her breath. She had full battlenet access, but with a software package decades out of date she could only dream about the kind of tactical awareness that the Spartans were afforded by their advanced VISR systems and sensor-integrated combat management software. Sure, her computers could stitch together a rough imitation, highlighting enemies and points of interest other people pointed out, but she couldn't predict enemy movements, actively spot points of interest, or coordinate infantry maneuvers even half as smoothly. Her sensor suite could pick out an inert rock from halfway across the solar system, but in this cramped, footbound environment she was forced to turn off her powerful radars and imaging systems or risk being deafened by the massive sensory feedback. Without them, when compared to the Spartans, her OODA loop approximated a guy shouting through a bullhorn at another, half-deaf guy. "Back in my day, we didn't have some fancy ARTEMIS doing all our recon for us, we had a pair of boots and binoculars, and we had to share the damn—" Her nose made hard contact with hard metal, bringing her and her thoughts to a sudden stop.

" _Hey, old-timer, look alive._ " Clutching her nose and peering through watery eyes, Dawn realized she had walked straight into a Spartan's back. Slightly put-out by the fact that the super soldier hadn't even flinched from the impact, she looked around to see both Fireteam Dancer and Breaker arrayed in security formation, crouching behind the scant cover available in the alien corridor, facing outwards with interlocking fields of fire, forming a loose circle around Seven as she worked at what looked like a panel of elevator controls. " _If your bones aren't creaking, take cover and help cover the approaches._ "

"Yes, sir," Dawn mumbled, suitably chastised, and traded her MA5C for an M739 Mk II SAW from her armory. Not quite as potent as Jin's Mk IV, but it could still lay a barrage where it counted. She felt a couple of the Spartans look askance at her as she did so, particularly as the assault rifle dissolved into faintly glowing white particles which dispersed like ash, and as the machine gun appeared from a similarly glowing orb of light which shaped itself into the weapon's silhouette before disappearing, leaving the gun to fall into her hands. The HAVOK nuke on her stomach and the reactor housing on her back, to say nothing of her heavy armor, made it a little awkward to crouch, but she managed it. "In position," she said, for anyone who cared.

" _Roger. Seven, report._ "

The Spartan stayed silent. In her place, another female voice answered. " _Not much progress._ " Kalina, the dumb cyberwarfare AI hitching a ride with the boarding party, spoke over the taccom channel. " _The panel's completely airgapped, so even if I could worm my way into the Abbie shipnet I couldn't hack it. We're trying to tackle it by physically hot-wiring it, but the circuitry—"_

" _It's FUBAR. Some kind of solid-state kludge, and no access port. It might be biometrically locked, but I don't have the equipment or time to determine that._ " A frustrated note bled into Dancer Three's voice as she stood back from the panel. " _Permission to take more direct action?_ "

Blanc nodded. " _Make it quick._ "

" _Roger._ " No sound reached her ears, but Dawn could see the liquid crystal fibers covering Seven's legs tense as she stanced up in front of the elevator doors, which looked more like the wings of a beetle folded over each other. Without another word, the Spartan reeled back and punched the doors hard enough to dent the metal and make Dawn yelp in surprise. She didn't let up, driving her fists into the metal over and over until a small gap opened up between the two door panels. She then pushed her fingers into the gap and began to pull, pull, and pull, grunts of exertion coming over the taccom until, with a shriek that vibrated through the floor and into Dawn's bones, the doors peeled apart to reveal the dark, empty void beyond.

Blanc pointed at the opening as the Spartan stepped back, shaking her hands out a bit and looking no worse for the wear. " _Three, check the shaft._ " Kenniston moved in and stuck his left gauntlet into the opening, followed by the faint pulse of ARTEMIS spreading throughout the space beyond. Barely two seconds later he jerked his hand back, followed by a ghostly grey-purple form rushing by the opening like a phantom in the night.

" _Lift is active,_ " Kenniston said, somewhat redundantly, completely calm despite the fact he'd almost lost his hand. " _ATS saw one six hostiles, heading downwards. They know we're here._ "

" _Roger that._ " Blanc tilted his helmet as he thought for a few seconds. " _As expected, we should anticipate more resistance as we penetrate deeper. Abbies are probably consolidating forces around the citadel. There's likely better terrain down there, where they can bring numbers against us properly. Expect heavy weapons, armor if there's room._ "

" _So, a ring of tanks right around engineering and command? Perfect._ " Bravo Six gestured to the mangled doors. " _Any idea how far down we need to go?_ "

" _Toss a sounding frag down, see what we see._ " Seven nodded and pulled out a small orb studded with lidar emitters. As she made to toss it down the shaft, the floor trembled beneath them as if an earthquake was passing through. The Spartans mag-locked their boots; Dawn stumbled before Mordeaux reached out and caught her by the shoulder. Murmuring thanks as she regained her balance, she cast a look at the ceiling and the void beyond, hidden behind meters and meters of metal, nervously caressing her weapon.

"That felt like a big hit."

" _Unlikely. Took everything and then some to make a hole for us, and it only lasted a few seconds._ " Blanc gestured for Seven to go ahead. " _Probably didn't even crack the shields — if it did, bastard will've regenerated them by now._ "

"Yeah…" Dawn's thoughts strayed to Amber, and how she was holding up. Being thrown straight into the thick of things, with so much riding on her shoulders… Dawn wished she could have taken her place, but then Amber would be in here, and sending her back into the heart of the enemy so soon after she'd escaped from them — well, Dawn wasn't sure how much of that time Amber retained, but that would be, at the very least, most certainly a recipe for some hefty PTSD triggers. "I wonder how things are out there…"

* * *

" _If it's any consolation, Admiral, no plan survives contact with the enemy._ "

"Thank you, Roland, very helpful. Now—" Lasky grunted as his crash restraints dug into his shoulders, keeping him from being thrown into the display table in front of him. _Infinity_ 's hull groaned around him, shuddering from kinetic energy bleed-through even as her shields successfully resisted the impact of an energy projector. More rounds struck home as she charged an Abyssal cruiser division, doggedly standing their ground despite the dozens of capital ships and hundreds of lighter units barreling towards them. Brave, but stupidly so. If they wanted to fight, Lasky was more than happy to oblige. "— _Enterprise, Thoth_ , immediate execute assume position minus one one zero by minus zero six seven, distance one thousand kilometers, reference _Infinity._ All units, prepare to engage the enemy."

Battlegroups _Enterprise_ and _Thoth_ responded immediately, swinging down and port. They arrived on station just as the tight formation intercepted the cruiser division, in just the right place to pin the alien ships between themselves and Battlegroups _Infinity_ and _Fujin_. The cruisers finally began to scatter, still firing ineffectually, deadly salvoes of kinetic and energy weapons splashing uselessly against the powerful frontal shields of the UNSC capital ships, sparing lighter units their fury. MACs and energy projectors flashed on the run-in and secondary batteries delivered broadside after quick-load broadside on the follow-through. For frigates and destroyers, the undulating, pitch-black alien warships were tough nuts to crack. Under the main batteries of over twenty battleships and fleet carriers their shields and armor posed about as much resistance as Kevlar to an APFSDS shell, and as the main formation moved on a light cruiser division and two destroyer division detached and fell on the remnants like blood-frenzied sharks.

"Hostile cruiser division neutralized. CruDiv 9, DesDiv 1 report light damage. CruDiv 17 reports moderate damage. Infinity shields forty percent. Fujin shields fifteen percent. Brahma, Anubis shields thirty percent. All units awaiting further orders."

"All units, stand by on current course, come to half speed, adopt Formation Delta-Two." Lasky nodded in satisfaction. As planned, the capital ships had attracted and absorbed the majority of enemy fire. Now, as their shields rebuilt, they regrouped to form the core of a loose defensive formation, hexagonal clusters of armor and shields arranged in a tight ellipsoid, long axis oriented on the fleet's current vector, interspersed with a swirling cloud of light ships. "Roland, send all battlegroup commanders my regards. CruDiv 17, report, do you require time for repairs, over?"

The face of the division commander appeared on screen, her teeth bared in an adrenaline-fueled grimace. " _Affirmative,_ Forty Shillings _took three penetrating hits to her starboard main battery breech. Maneuvering unaffected, requesting permission to detach her for repairs, over._ "

"Permission granted, out." On screen, the Autumn-class heavy cruiser _Forty Shillings_ , sporting a jagged, gaping, twenty-meter diameter hole in her dorsal armor belt, pulled away from her division. Her slip space drive, beyond the influence of Earth's jump interdiction beacons, tore a hole in the fabric of space time through which she slipped, jumping to rendezvous with the auxiliary division led by _Gallant._ The intercept was slightly complicated by the fact that _Gallant_ was currently conducting evasive maneuvers at eight percent of light speed just beyond the asteroid belt, trying to make the vulnerable auxiliary ships just a _bit_ less appealing to Abyssal destroyer wolfpacks.

" _This is_ Gallant _, intercept successful. Commencing repairs, out._ "

"Good." One final survey satisfied Lasky that no other auxiliary tasks remained. Time to get back in the fight. "Roland, find our next target."

" _It's a shooting gallery, sir._ " The AI bowed and vanished into a shower of red voxels which moved to highlight an enemy formation. " _Lord Hood humbly requests that this battleship division not exist in the very near future._ "

"He commands and we obey." Lasky stared intently at the designated Abyssal unit. Perhaps fifty ships, centered around a few battleships, positioned on a flank, taking long-range potshots at the Home Fleet battleline, now buckling under the strain of a concerted Abyssal advance. Home Fleet mobile units, destroyer, light cruiser, and some heavy cruiser divisions, were attempting to gain the flanks and rear of the Abyssal push, but those battleships, along with other clusters of heavy units, were positioned so that those light units couldn't attack the enemy core before getting through them first. Destroyers and cruisers stood little chance against battleships, and if they tried to jump past the screen that would only trap them between the naval equivalents of a hammer and anvil. No, it would take the UNSC's own heavy units to break the cordon. All Home Fleet battleships and carriers were currently engaged, unable to overcome the numerical superiority of the Abyssals… but on the same token, the alien bastards were completely tunnel-visioned on breaking the Home Fleet. A perfect opportunity for his ships, running wild in the Abyssal rear and not tied down to any particular defensive positions, to wreak some havoc. "We'll come from the bottom, engage from behind, then break left and up. Roland, plot us a course."

" _Done. All maneuvers scheduled and listed._ "

"Thank you. All units, immediate execute, come to bearing one-eight-one by two-five-four, adopt formation Alpha-Two, offset seven zero zero, reference _Infinity_ , accelerate to engage designated hostile formation _._ At nine thousand kilometers distance, come to bearing one-zero-four by three-zero-zero, adopt formation Alpha-Three, offset seven zero zero, reference _Fujin,_ accelerate to disengage. _Enterprise_ , maintain defensive posture and prepare to sortie strike wings. FrigDivs Eight through Eighteen, detach after initial engagement to support the aerospace forces. All units, acknowledge and execute orders."

Confirmation lights blinked green as System Fleet Eridani swung into action, moving into a wedge formation with _Infinity_ at the tip, _Fujin_ and _Thoth_ in the wings, and _Enterprise_ in the center. If all went to plan, this formation would move to engage the enemy group, acceleration adding velocity and power to their main battery fire. Just before close-quarters fighting ensued it would loop backwards to disengage, collapsing into a line formation to maximize secondary battery and ventral energy projector firepower, _Enterprise_ 's bombers pounding whatever remained. "Time to engagement?"

" _Two minutes._ "

"Thank you. Pre-plot some firing solutions, please. Lieutenant Smith, projected velocity at engagement?"

"Sir. Projected velocity one zero five two klicks per second at engagement."

"One zero five two klicks per second, thank you, lieutenant." At that speed, there would be time only for one, maybe two good salvoes between opening fire and breaking off. A pity, but any slower and the Abyssals could reposition to properly engage his ships. Freedom of movement was Lasky's greatest advantage; at this point, getting stuck in would only play to the aliens' strengths. He rechecked his crash restraints, made sure his vacuum mask was close to hand, and pointed at one of his staff comms officers. "Lieutenant Chevalier, signal Lord Hood that we are complying with his request. All units, maintain current course, prepare to engage the enemy."

Trailing some ten thousand kilometers behind and above the main body, Battleship Group 13 lazily observed the human battleline, as well as its more vainglorious counterparts in the vanguard. From its vantage point it could clearly see the ebb and flow of battle, as well as that the overall momentum was swinging in its comrades' favor. The human line was buckling, nearly broken in several places, smaller ships slipping piecemeal through their frontlines to attack the carriers in the rear, heedless of their commanders' snarled orders to stay in formation. They were mostly quickly swatted down, but the fact it was happening at all indicated that the human fleet was losing cohesion. Their battleships were all heavily damaged, venting atmosphere in several locations, formations crumbling as they struggled merely to survive, let alone contribute to the wider battle. Increasing numbers of lighter units either fell back, trailing fire and shedding debris, or were outright destroyed. It had taken awhile, but between constant, grinding attrition and the Command Ship dividing their attentions, the humans were crumbling. Feeling rather comfortable in its current position, the group commander allowed itself to daydream a little, leaving its units to run themselves, ignoring ugly reality for just a bit to imagine future victories and glories.

So it came as a bit of a shock when over two hundred heavy MAC shells slammed into it from behind, at the same time as several dozen energy projector beams seared away shields and boiled thick armor into useless slag and gas. One battleship resisted several destroyer and cruiser shots, shrugging them off with seemingly no effect. A pair of eight hundred-tonne shells from _Fujin_ 's main battery were a different story; the ship seemed to swell and balloon as they penetrated its thinly-armored main propulsion units at three percent of light speed. The titanic rods of metal self-annihilated on impact, sheer kinetic energy transforming them into jets of superheated gas and plasma. Much of their mass scattered in a pair of tremendous explosions, but more of it continued on, barely impeded by hundreds of decks and layers of internal armoring, until it blasted out the other side of the vessel, having traveled nearly the entire length of the alien battleship.

As broken hulks tumbled away, the surviving Abyssal ships executed a disciplined about-face to bring their main batteries to bear on their attackers. Expecting a tight formation of enemy capital ships to slug it out with, they were instead met with naught but a hail of missiles and railgun slugs, the wisps of rapidly-receding drive exhausts, and dozens of frigates weaving intricate plasma trails as they danced fifteen thousand kilometers away, taunting the Abyssal capital ships with their maneuverability as they hurled light MAC rounds and missiles. As the Abyssals engaged them with a furious volley, scoring several main battery hits, their sensors displays lit up with yet more drive trails, much closer this time, as stealth torpedoes began to detonate throughout their formation.

As the last unstable slip space portals vanished, leaving multiple wrecks drifting helplessly with large chunks taken out of their flanks as if bit by some massive cosmic dog, the aliens pressed forward to crush the frigates, to their credit undaunted by their losses. They still had a few battleships, after all, and with torpedoes expended no number of human frigates were a match for even three Abyssal battleships working together. However, it was at that moment, with Abyssal point defenses greatly weakened, formation cohesion severely disrupted, and targeting systems fixated on the nimble frigates, that a series of micro-portals opened above the Abyssal ships. Out poured two dozen wings of Claymore bombers and Sentinel drones, fresh out of _Enterprise_ 's hangers, and they scythed through the Abyssal formation with little resistance, disappearing into yet more portals on the other side. Their entire attack took but a few seconds, but the nuclear spears and bomb-pumped lasers left behind as a parting gift, delivered directly into the stockings of good little Abyssal boys and girls, left a mark that lasted quite a bit longer.

"Casualty report: _Baselard_ , _New Delhi_ , heavily damaged. _Hunahpu_ , light damage _. Los Angeles_ , _Venice,_ lost," Lieutenant Smith reported. "Hostile formation has sustained heavy casualties, judged to be effectively neutralized."

"Thank you, lieutenant." Despite his hit-and-run tactics, Lasky had still lost two frigates. Not unexpected, but still somewhat disheartening. At least the result seemed to be worth the cost, as Lord Hood immediately poured Home Fleet mobile units through the gap his ships had created, renewing their harassment and raiding of the Abyssal rearguard. Dispatching _Baselard_ and _New Delhi_ to Battlegroup _Gallant_ for repairs, he turned to Roland to consult on their next maneuver, only to find the AI already deep in thought. "Roland?" Initially no response, as the AI gaze remained downwards, chin in hand. "Roland!"

" _Ah._ " The AI started and looked up, embarrassed. " _Apologies. Verdant just passed along an update from Captain Garcia. Update as follows: Delaying action is proceeding smoothly. Progress of boarding party is unknown but Auxiliary 2 is performing well. Estimate will be able to hold the Z-class in place for another four hours._ "

"Hmph." Loathe as he was to admit it, that Abbie — no. She deserved a little more credit than that by now. Healthy suspicion was one thing, but unreasonable paranoia served no one. That… shipgirl. Yes, that was the best way he could describe her. That shipgirl… In Amber Clad, was it? She was doing an alright job, all things considered. Lasky didn't want to imagine what would happen once that Z-class got tired of her and made it in range of Earth. Hopefully she, along with Battlegroup _Yamato_ , could buy enough time for the boarding party to destroy the thing, or for the Home Fleet to swing around and lend its firepower to the mix. "Let me know if he requests support. We need to keep that thing pinned where it is."

" _Aye, sir._ " Roland smiled coyly. " _Warming up to our friend in the Auxiliaries, eh?_ "

"Within reason. I'd still like to keep her at arms length, but she's proven an asset thus far." _Especially since she's under ONI's thumb now._ Lasky could still see Agent Berlin's smug smirk, millimeters short of being a full-blown grin, as she reported the successful test of her hypothesis. Though he was glad to be proven apparently wrong in his suspicion, did it have to be ONI who did so? _No one to blame but myself,_ he supposed.

Still, surely he had to be allowed a few gripes today, right? Lasky could count on one hand his recent blessings. One, in the form of Forward Unto Dawn. Another one — no, maybe half a blessing? He wasn't quite ready to hold hands and sing Kumbaya with In Amber Clad yet. Another in that he'd gotten word of the attack on Earth in time to be of help, and one last one, in that a Z-class hadn't been present at Reach.

Around these three and a half blessings laid the ruins of his carefully crafted battle plan. Gone were the feinting maneuvers and sweeping attack runs; now he was simply flying by the seat of his pants, attacking targets of opportunity, generally trying to be a 500-ship nuisance in the Abyssal rear. He had an extremely powerful force, to be sure, more than capable of doing plenty of damage… but there were over two thousand Abyssals in front of him. He'd been counting on having Forward Unto Dawn on hand to split their attentions. Without her, he just wasn't drawing them off fast enough, and the Home Fleet continued to be ground to dust.

As his ships came around for another attack, a UNSC battleship, under fire from no fewer than twenty enemy ships, finally succumbed. As its fireball faded, cruisers scrambled to fill the hole in the line while other battleships tried to reposition, but Abyssal destroyers and frigates threw themselves into the gap, all guns blazing. The opposing sides got off one main battery salvo before a vicious close quarters action ensued, spinal MACs and energy projectors ditched in favor of coilguns, pulse lasers, and wave after wave of thousands of missiles, launched so quickly and at such close range the space between human and Abyssal ships seemed to be covered in a blanket of rippling fire. The Abyssals disengaged after a minute, falling back to their own lines, but they left in their wake two crippled UNSC cruiser divisions and a broken formation.

In another section of the battleline, two UNSC cruisers charged, desperately trying to buy time for several heavily damaged ships to withdraw. They succeeded, but at the cost of their lives, a cost they paid dearly when the _Long Road Home_ , bow shot off and over ninety percent of its crew dead, rammed itself into an Abyssal cruiser and detonated its reactors. UNSC aerospace forces continued to launch strike after strike, but their numbers were growing thinner and thinner as attrition took its toll. Where once there were hundreds of craft in a strike there were merely a few dozen, and the pilots were getting tired, making mistakes. Four squadrons of bombers overcommitted to an attack on an apparently crippled battleship, only for an Abyssal frigate division to pop out of slipspace and eviscerate them with their point defenses. Here, a mobile destroyer division fell, finally run down by their Abyssal counterparts. There, a battleship was forced to retreat, its escorts left to try and plug the gap while it affected emergency repairs.

Lasky gritted his teeth as the same scenes continued to play out, with minor variations, all alone the line. He needed a change in tactics. Keeping all of ships together wasn't allowing an adequate rate of attacks, but at the same token he needed these numbers to ensure that each attack was successful. Going against an Abyssal formation with equal numbers was a fool's gambit, but he _did_ have over five hundred warships to work with. "We're going nowhere fast with this strategy. Roland, what if we split _Enterprise_ and _Thoth_ off to form a separate task force? _Fujin_ will stick with _Infinity,_ and each task force will prosecute separate targets." On screen, the fleet split into two, each section going off to attack separate sections of the Abyssal line.

" _Hm… that's nearly three hundred ships per force. Only around a dozen capitals per, though. Force concentration goes down in a big way, but if we stick to bullying the fringes and gradually work our way in…_ " Roland made a show of chewing his non-existent thumbnail. " _It increases the risk, but if we want to make a timely difference I don't see much other way of going about it. Well, we could always just bullrush the entire thing, but heroic charges tend to get heroes killed._ " He nodded. " _In the absence of better, not-suicidal options, I concur._ "

"Not suicidal." Lasky snorted. "That's a way to put it. Very well then. Lieutenant Chevalier, open channel to battlegroup commanders." The portraits of the various group commanders appeared in front of him. None of them looked much worse for the wear, except perhaps Tourville on _Fujin_. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her brow, probably from the beating her ship had absorbed, but if anything she only looked more excited. "Change of plans. We will be splitting the force into two sections in order to up our attack tempo." He pointed at the left two portraits. "Captain Marcos, Captain Nomura, _Thoth_ and _Enterprise_ will break off and form Task Force B, Captain Marcos in command, and commence independent action. Restrict your operations to the left flank until further ordered. Captain Tourville, Captain Shen, _Fujin_ and _Infinity_ will remain under my command and form Task Force A. All associated forces will remain with their respective battlegroups. Forces may split further at the force commander's discretion. Are there any questions?"

To their credit, the commanders didn't look fazed at all by the sudden change in orders. Only Marcos raised her hand, expression revealing nothing. " _Clarification, Admiral,_ " she said. " _Are there any restrictions on what enemy units we can engage?_ "

"Negative, but exercise good sense. You will have reduced support, don't pick fights you can't win, but this is necessary if we want to take enough pressure off the Home Fleet. Inflict as much damage as you can."

" _Understood. We will not fail._ " With a salute, she disappeared. Nomura also saluted, eyes calculating, before leaving as well. A moment later, Battlegroups _Enterprise_ and _Thoth_ split off, propulsion burning at flank speed. That left Tourville and Shen still on the channel, the latter of whom quickly disappeared. Though he was nominally the commander of Battlegroup _Infinity_ , since _Infinity_ was the fleet flagship Lasky had practical control. Lasky was just thankful that Shen was the kind of man who didn't mind this sort of arrangement, being more than content just commanding his ship.

 _Rather reminds me of me_. With a nod, Lasky continued, "Captain Tourville, I trust you have no problems with this arrangement?"

" _None whatsoever. This sort of small-unit fighting suits me best._ " Her eyes gleamed with excitement and aggression. " _Battlegroup_ Fujin _is at your command._ "

"Very well. Dismissed." As Tourville vanished, he turned back to the battlespace display to plot his next move. "Roland, where are we needed?"

" _Everywhere, really. Battlegroup_ Minerva's _looking rather weak, but they aren't on the verge of utter collapse, so I'll put that on the back burner for now. There's also a slight situation developing on the bottom flank. We've got five cruiser divisions trying to circle around_ Nemesis _and punch up into_ Warspite. Warspite's _escorts are trying to hold them off, but they're not exactly at full strength, and her aerospace forces are currently… indisposed._ "

"Then that's where we'll go. Set course for intercept, get me firing solutions—"

Lieutenant Chevalier interrupted, voice slightly raised. "Admiral Lasky, priority flash message from Admiral Hood."

Lasky arched an eyebrow. _Now what?_ "Go ahead."

"Message as follows, sir: immediate execute, flank collapse imminent. Redeploy forces to support Battlegroup _Minerva_. Provide time for Home Fleet elements to regroup. Message ends."

"Thank you, lieutenant." _No longer on the back burner, then._ "Roland, give me the tactical situation."

Looking a bit peeved at having his tactical analysis upended, Roland said, rather stiffly, " _Unfortunately, the situation has changed very, and I mean_ very, _recently._ Minerva _has suffered unsustainable damage and is falling back at full speed._ " Roland pointed to the location in question. UNSC formations finally gave way as hundreds of Abyssal ships surged forward in a concerted push. The human warships fell back in good order, trying to reform the battleline, but many were caught up and overwhelmed. Titanium-grey wrecks floated in the wake of the alien advance, flames feeding off the atmosphere venting from shattered hulks as swarms of missiles flew back and forth through the debris fields, detonations rippling across human and alien shields alike. " _From the looks of it, those ships are trying to land more troops to reinforce their current beachhead in Sydney._ "

"Hm…" Lasky scanned the readouts, cursing Hood's timing and looking for anything he could use to his advantage. "Of course, it's just as I split my forces. I don't suppose it's too late to recall Task Force B?"

" _They've already engaged enemy forces trying to hit the center. Pulling them out now would only get them killed._ " Captain Marcos must have gotten tired of nibbling around the edges, as the display showed Battlegroups _Thoth_ and _Enterprise_ slashing downwards into the center of the Abyssal fleet. By now, the Abbies were well aware of the hundreds of ships attacking from the rear, and several sub-formations had repositioned to properly engage the UNSC ships. Confronted with a solid wall of shields, armor, and an alert enemy, the previous tactics of an attack run to close range, followed by a fighting disengagement were off the table. Instead, it appeared Marcos was opting for long-range missile volleys, interspersed with volleys of energy projectors in an attempt to lure the targeted Abyssal ships out of their protective formation. Nomura's bombers were waiting in the wings, ready to pounce as soon as that happened. A safe, conservative strategy, but one that required complete focus and a significant time commitment. No, _Thoth_ and _Enterprise_ were off the table.

"Acknowledged. On the bright side, the Abbies have pulled their rearguard forward to support this attack, so we should be able to attack the main body directly."

" _Quite._ " Roland briefly glanced upwards. " _All units report weapons at ready condition, adequate fuel reserves, no urgent repairs, standing by for your orders._ "

"Very well. All units Task Force A, immediate execute, come to bearing one three two by two seven six, adopt formation Alpha-Two, reference _Infinity,_ offset five zero zero, accelerate to engage designated hostile formations. At four thousand kilometers distance, come to bearing three two zero by three five four, accelerate to disengage. All units, acknowledge and execute orders."

" _Repeating your tactics?_ " Roland put his hands up defensively when Lasky turned an unamused gaze on him. " _Not complaining, they worked well enough before. I did notice you're pressing the engagement much closer this time, though._ "

"I'm hoping the close approach either scatters their formation and gives _Minerva_ time to reform, or gets them to chase us. Either way, it'll let us get in an extra salvo and do some more damage," Lasky explained. The task force began to accelerate into its attack run, propulsion flaring and reactors straining as rows of coilguns and plasma lances swung into position, missile targeting systems acquired lock and main batteries loaded salvos. Checking once more to make sure his crash restraints were tight, he settled back into his chair and kept his eyes on the display. "As long as the Home Fleet can hold, we can whittle the Abbies down from the rear. We just need to hold."

" _Mm._ " Roland still looked worried. " _Unless that big sonuvabitch on the other side of the planet decides to swing around and pay us a visit._ "

Lasky shook his head in resignation. "Captain Garcia will let us know if anything urgent crops up. Until then, we can only pray that everything turns out okay."

* * *

"Not okay, _not okay_!"

Within the Abyssal dreadnought, Dawn remained unaware of the various developments occurring outside. Perhaps just as well; she had enough problems of her own to worry about, especially as she backpedaled and dove for cover for the third time in as many minutes. An Abyssal gun turret swept towards her, crackling yellow beams of accelerated ionized particles scorching the decking as she tried to catch her breath. Drawing in lungfuls of smoky, alien atmosphere, she gingerly prodded at a scorched section of her chestplate, hissing as the tender skin underneath protested the stimulation. "Way too close," she murmured. If it hadn't been for her starship-grade armor, that particle beam would have blasted half her left lung into fine mist, and even then the heat transfer had seared her through the plating. "Where the hell did all these motherfuckers come from?" she asked, not for the first time and to no one in particular.

" _Alright?_ " came a voice over a radio, as if she'd merely tripped over a loose stone.

"Yeah, fine, fine. Got cocky, that's all." _You would think I'd have learned my lesson the first two times,_ Dawn thought, risking a peek above her cover and receiving a flurry of plasma bolts in compensation for her trouble. "Goddamn, where do they keep coming from?" No matter how many Abyssals the Spartans dropped — and they dropped plenty — there never seemed to be an end to the reinforcements streaming into this enormous chamber-turned-battlefield. After hours without encountering anything more significant than a patrol, it was as if the entire crew complement of this alien behemoth suddenly decided that life was rather overrated and were now trying to drown the intruders in lead and blood.

And, though she hated to admit it, the strategy seemed to be working. She could barely hear herself think over the tracers whining past just overhead. The 60-billion tonne Abyssal dreadnought just managed to edge out a Covenant supercarrier in mass; naturally, its embarked ground forces would be just as large. From the moment they entered the compartment, whose exact purpose Dawn had yet to divine, the Spartans' kill count hadn't stopped rising. By her estimates, it lay somewhere in the high hundreds now. Her own count was either thirty two or thirty five, depending on whether or not three of them had merely been wounded the first time she nailed them. Yet still they came, morale seeming no worse for the wear.

She wouldn't call them a horde. The aliens displayed remarkable discipline and unit cohesion, never breaking in the face of heavy casualties, utilizing coordinated focus fire, snipers and heavy weapons to prevent the Spartans from closing to close range. If the supersoldiers wanted to charge the alien line and break through, they'd have to cross nearly a hundred meters of open ground against a density of guns Dawn could only describe as 'jam-packed'. Oh sure, if the Spartans made it all the way over they'd tear the Abyssal soldiers apart, but it was the making it over there part that was proving troublesome. Even with their augmented speed, it would take a few seconds sprinting at full tilt, and that was more than enough time for a baker's dozen machine guns to wear away MJOLNIR's shields and turn a man into a colander.

For their resistance, the Abyssals paid a steep price in blood. Dawn would never consider herself a crack shot, especially against targets in a defensive position with good cover, but with just so many targets even she could rack up a killcount. Once again braving the bullets, she popped up, drew a bead, and put six shots into an Abbie rifleman. A grenade quickly followed, summoned into her hand with a thought and thrown high into the air so that it was timed to explode just as it hit the ground, giving it no chances to be thrown back. She shot one more alien before enemy fire swept back her way, several rounds bouncing off her helmet as she ducked back down. Dawn could hear the paper-ripping sound of a Spartan opening back up with a machine gun, along with the deeper thud of a sniper rifle and the ever-present rat-tat-tat of assault rifles. A swathe of aliens fell, but as always more came up to take their place, not the least bit discouraged by their massive casualties.

Against these sorts of dug-in numbers, even eight Spartan-IVs and one shipgirl could barely find any openings to push ahead. A real meat-grinder of a strategy, but one with a certain brutal elegance to it; if the Abyssals' greatest strength lay in numbers, then it made perfect sense to use them. As for why they couldn't just go _around_ this river of blood, rather than pushing fruitlessly against the current… well, there'd been more than a few arguments about that among the Spartans themselves. But that massive dais on the far side of the chamber, pulsing with strange slowing glyphs, as well as the fact that most major passageways seemed to end up here one way or another, indicated that _this_ was the something worth fighting for. Unfortunately, their eight-man plus one shipgirl team was built for infiltration and rapid action, not this kind of stand-up battle.

A shot rang out, reverberating like a thunderclap, and the particle turret abruptly fell silent. " _Turret down,_ " Five reported, the Spartan's form momentarily appearing as taking the shot disrupted his active camouflage. Strapping his sniper rifle across his back and drawing an assault rifle, he elegantly backflipped from the small ledge, really a crevice, that his magnetic boots bound him to, disappearing amidst the clouds of smoke billowing from smoke grenades scattered throughout the cavernous compartment. More particle beams, plasma bolts, and plain old bullets stabbed at his previous location, but he was already gone, only faint swirls in the smoke clouds indicating his position as he searched for another vantage point.

" _Good shot._ " Blanc's voice replied, practically monotone with how unexcited it sounded. " _Dawn, lay suppressing fire on that turret, don't let them get back on it. Dancer, assume overwatch. Breaker, advance to those points._ "

"Roger," three voices replied simultaneously, two calm and one shaky. Dawn poked out above her cover and fired a long burst from her assault rifle, instantly drawing the ire of about a dozen Abyssal soldiers who seemed to prefer shooting at her over any of the power-armored cyborgs running amok in their ship. Which god's cereal she'd pissed in that morning, Dawn didn't know, but it allowed Fireteam Breaker to move forward another eight meters or so, taking positions at waypoints Dawn couldn't see but which appeared on their HUDs. Again, she wished that the techs could have taken maybe another twenty seconds to do a bit more than the most basic of tactical software integrations, but according to them her programs were 'thirty years out of date' and 'practically incompatible with current protocols', whatever the hell that meant.

"Some people do this," she muttered, summoning a fresh magazine from her armory and racking her rifle's bolt, "for a living? And enjoy it? Fucking lunatics." Dawn squinted down the sights and drew a bead on what she thought was an Abyssal's head — it was hard to tell with all the smoke, the dim ambient lighting, and the flashes of weapons fire constantly casting everything into harsh light and warped shadow. The eerie glow of the glyphs wasn't helping either, illuminating the aliens with a pulsing purple light. She held the trigger down for three seconds, carefully controlling the recoil, and was rewarded with a shriek. "Got 'em," she whispered, then swept her barrel back and forth. Shadowy forms ducked and scattered as her bullets sparked off of metal, briefly decreasing the amount of fire coming her way and allowing a Spartan to chuck a grenade over the Abyssal barricade. Their shields sparked as they were instantly focused by no less than nine aliens, and even decades of scientific advancement couldn't stop them from popping as the super soldier pivoted behind an outcropping.

As a heavy _thump_ sounded out, Blanc let out a frustrated noise. " _We're getting nowhere fast,_ " he said, crouched down and waiting for his own shields to rebuild. " _Dawn, can you use your weapons systems to wipe these assholes?_ "

Shaking her head, Dawn replied, "My targeting's offline in here, too much rebound; I'd be firing blind, and that's worse than not firing at all." In theory, her point defense guns, Archer missiles, and, if necessary, MAC could shit fire all over the Abbies. However outdated her weapons systems were, as a warship she still operated on a completely different level from infantry. Unfortunately, the massive, cluttered returns generated from high-powered radio waves rebounding chaotically throughout the enclosed space were more likely to give her a splitting headache than a viable firing solution. That precluded her from using her stocks of Archer missiles to thin the hostile numbers — without accurate targeting data, she'd be eyeballing the launch and more likely to blow herself up than to put any significant dent into the enemy.

Luckily, the Spartans were not lacking in explosives of their own. A rocket blasted downrange on a column of flame, seeker head reaching out and locking onto a faint heat signature amid the blobs and streaks of infrared radiation bobbing, weaving, and zipping throughout the cavernous compartment. It suddenly shot straight up, high above the battlefield. A blink later, an explosion erupted behind an Abyssal barricade, tossing body parts into the air. " _Tangos down. Reloading._ " Moments later, another rocket leapt from Bravo Eight's launcher. This one missed by a hair's breadth, shooting past the Abyssals to impact the far side of the compartment. An explosion erupted, obscuring the dais and temporarily blocking out the light of the glyphs. When the smoke cleared, however, there didn't seem to be any lasting damage done.

" _Watch your aim. Dawn, keep up the suppressing fire. Five through Eight, get ready to move up, keep targeting officers. Two, Three lay fire down on the left side. Four, with me, rake the right. You know the drill, everyone._ "

" _Roger._ " Jin repositioned to point her machine gun at the designated targets, fired a burst, then paused. " _SAW is empty._ " Another pause. _"I'm out. Switching to DMR—"_

"Wait! Four, behind you, catch!" The Spartan half-turned, just enough to catch the hundred-round drum of ammunition that Dawn tossed her way.

" _Where did—_ "

"I've got plenty more where that came from, just keep firing!" The Spartan stared at the ammo for half a second longer before nodding, reloading, and turning back to continue hosing the Abyssals with hot metal. "Anyone else who needs ammo, let me know!" Even if she couldn't use her weapons systems, her shipgirl abilities could still contribute in other ways — namely, through the deep, deep stocks of ammunition in her onboard armories.

The Spartans took this new development with admirable aplomb. All of them were running low on ammo, but you wouldn't know it from the almost casual way they stated their needs, as if they were simply grabbing a slice at the local pizzeria.

" _Need assault rifle ammo._ "

" _Requesting fourteen point five."_

 _"Ninety mike mike HEAT._ "

"Okay, don't have _that_ one," Dawn replied, hurriedly summoning and distributing ammunition as fast as her crew could pull it out of storage. She prayed that none of it got hit mid-transit as it alternately flew through the air or slid across the floor into waiting hands to be slapped into waiting weapons and be delivered into waiting alien skulls. "I have M41s in storage?"

" _It'll do._ " A case of SPNKR rockets with accompanying launcher spun like a frisbee into Eight's hands. " _Haven't seen one of these in…_ " Shaking her head, the Spartan discarded her current weapon in favor of the SPNKR, locked in the dual rotating tubes, took a firing stance, checked her back blast, and unleashed a tankbusting HEAT warhead straight into the chest of an Abyssal officer who stood barking orders, all within the space of two seconds. " _My thanks._ "

Dawn returned a thumbs up. "No problem!" With the ammunition situation temporarily sorted, she took up her rifle again, but caught the sight of Blanc's visor staring at her, even as he put three rounds into a rifleman's skull. "… maybe one problem?"

" _I wish you'd told us about this sooner,_ " the Spartan ground out as he shot a grenade out of midair, then shot its thrower as it tried to duck back down. " _Could've been useful quite a ways back._ "

"… it slipped my mind?"

" _Evidently._ " Blanc dropped down to reload, but paused with his empty magazine halfway out of the well. If she listened closely, Dawn could almost hear the grinding of gears turning in his head. " _What's in this 'armory' of yours?_ "

"Oh, lots. Let's see—" Dawn emptied her latest magazine, then ducked down to give herself a chance to shut her eyes. With her surroundings slightly blocked out, she turned her focus inwards, her consciousness flying through corridors and bulkheads to arrive at her primary armory. There, a harried-looking marine greeted her and led her in, past groups of sailors and marines trying to catch their breath from their impromptu cardiovascular workout, running back and forth with piles of magazines in their arms. She found herself in front of racks and racks of equipment, some of it pristine, some it less so. "All standard-issue small arms, M247 GPMGs, M41 rocket launchers, M7057 flamethrowers, a couple of Spartan lasers, handful of target designators, some railguns—"

" _Target designators?_ " The gears continued to grind. " _Are they compatible with your missile systems?_ "

"Yeah, I think. What've you got in mind?"

" _Give one here first._ "

A target designator soared through the air and landed in Blanc's outstretched hand, where he gave it a quick once-over and turned it on. Immediately, a small hum began to sound in Dawn's mind, so soft it was almost subliminal. The noise wasn't distracting or irritating, though by all rights it should have been. It felt natural, like a part of her, and that was a little weird, because she wasn't like a computer or something, but Dawn didn't have time to think about it. " _I'm going to laze the Abbies. When you get a lock, blow them away._ "

"Huh?" Her eyes followed the invisible laser beam emitting from the designator's head. "Are you sure this'll work? I've never done this before."

" _No harm in trying. Get ready._ " Blanc fired another long burst from his rifle, then tossed a smoke grenade. As the Abyssals poured fire into the resulting smoke cloud he strafed right, target designator held stead in one hand. The hum grew louder as Dawn's sensors began to pick up on the laser's return, followed by a shrill lock on tone as her computers established a solid connection with the device. A clear picture of the environment took shape in her minds eye, targets and missile trajectories plotted out, quite a refreshing change from the incomprehensible returns of her radar arrays and the dim, smoky, limited field of view her Mark 1 Eyeballs offered.

"Got it!" Dawn shouted, rather surprised that her targeting software could even integrate the provided data, given that it was coming in the form of a highly directed laser beam rather than a wide-field radar scan. It was completely possible in theory, but in her entire career she'd never tried it… until now. First time for everything, she supposed, as she called a row of Archer missile silos into being along her right arm. Her equipment responded instantly, flashing into existence, all silo doors open and ready to fire. The lock on tone changed, from lock-on acquired to ready to fire. "Missile bombardment ready! Everyone, get down!"

" _The hell—_ "

" _You heard her, get down!_ " Blanc went prone as the other Spartans stopped firing and ducked behind cover, flat on his belly but still out in the open as he determinedly held the designator on target. " _Go for it._ "

"Firing!" With a massive roar and gout of flame, a salvo of missiles left their silos. Despite their small size — they were essentially Archer missiles scaled down about a hundred times — the backwash was powerful enough to knock Dawn onto her rear. Her eyes kept tracking the missiles as they rocketed high into the air, above all obstacles, seeker heads locked onto the faint signal of the target designator as they reached their peaks and nosed over. The Abyssals spotted the missiles as well, and disorder seized their ranks as they scrambled to get away from the hail of explosives.

Too little, too late. Blanc swept the designator back and forth, sending missiles screaming left and right, raining down as a line of explosions blanketed the Abyssal defenses. Massive fireballs, out of all reasonable proportion to the size of the missiles, roiled in a wave of angry red-orange blasts that consumed everything they touched. Warheads designed to blast through warship armor tossed tons of slagged and vaporized metal into the air. Bodies vanished, torn to pieces, as a blast of hot, over-pressurized air washed over the strike team. A few lost lock and went stray, slamming into various walls and support structures. One missile shot all the way to the back of the compartment, where it once more covered the glowing dais in a sheet of flame.

The Spartans weathered the storm in their MJOLNIR; while Dawn's mass prevented from being thrown backwards, the heat still seared the backs of Dawn's arms, which she threw up to cover her face. The sound was so loud she almost couldn't hear it, on account of being deafened, but it was like someone repeatedly detonating packs of C12 inside her ear canal followed by several fully loaded freight trains rolling past. Belatedly, she realized that she was screaming. She couldn't even hear herself over the explosions. There was no sound in space, so she'd never actually gotten to experience the impact of her weapons up close and personal. It was _terrifying_ , and drove home just how powerful the Covenant were — had been — that they could shrug off something like that with no effort.

The ground was still rumbling when she suddenly felt a pressure on her shoulder. Blanc was kneeling next to her, one hand on her left arm. " _Are you okay? We need to move._ "

Nodding, she shakily got to her feet and gave a thumbs-up. "Y-yeah, I'm good now." Her barrage had done what small-arms couldn't and cleared out the Abyssal defensive positions. Craters and carbonized fragments of body parts laid scattered where there were once machine gun nests and plasma cannon emplacements. Yet, despite the devastation caused by dozens of anti-shipping missiles, Abyssal soldiers were _still_ trickling forwards, trying to form a secondary defensive line. At this point, Dawn's respect was starting to morph into something more resembling concern. This was beyond courage; in this situation, any reasonable soldiers, human, Covenant, or anything between, would withdraw, regroup, and reassess the situation. Instead, the Abyssals just kept coming, past the point of reason, throwing their lives away in the defense of… something. She was beginning to think this was less discipline and more some sort of compulsion. Studying alien psychology, though, was not her responsibility. Killing aliens was.

A crystal shard glancing off her torso armor brought her all the way back to reality. Dawn readied her missiles for another barrage, but before she could start firing procedures, Blanc put his arm out in front of her. " _No need for that. Stand down._ "

"Huh—?"

" _Dancer left, Breaker right, close quarters drill. Rush them!_ "

Blanc literally blurred before her eyes, augmented muscles and strength-enhancing armor instantly propelling him from zero to what Dawn's sensors clocked at a tentative fifty kilometers an hour. The other Spartans dashed forwards as well, leaping over their cover and sprinting so fast that their footfalls left dents in the deck, leaving a gaping Dawn to choke on their dust. Scattered small arms fire met them, as well as a few machine guns, but the disorganized shooting was a far cry from the literal bristling wall of heavy weapons that faced them before. Nor was it even nearly enough to stop eight Spartans charging full-out, and before the Abyssals could organize a proper response the Spartans had covered the distance and fallen upon them.

The nascent defensive line disintegrated into a chaotic mess of violence. The Spartans disappeared into a swirling mass of limbs and flashes of gunfire, though which Dawn could barely make out what was happening. From what concrete glimpses she caught, though, the whole affair was shockingly one-sided. Though competent soldiers, and a match for any UNSC marine, the Abyssal soldiers were hopelessly outmatched at close range. In one moment, Blanc ducked under a bayonet thrust, planted his rifle in the belly of his attacker, and blew its stomach out its back while simultaneously kicking behind himself and caving in the knee of another alien. In another instant, Jin had an Abyssal in a headlock, using it as a bullet shield while she whirled around, firing her SAW one-handed, scything through Abyssals like wheat. In one more flash, Mordeaux and Kenniston stood back to back, guns stowed away and long-bladed monomolecular combat knives in hand, less human and more whirling storms of sharpened metal that slashed, stabbed, and disemboweled any Abyssals who dared approach. Advancing with her rifle at the ready, Dawn tried to find an opening to help from a safe distance, but the swirling melee offered few opportunities to do so.

Not that it was needed. Within a few moments, dozens of Abyssals laid dead, eight Spartans standing victorious above their scattered bodies. The super soldiers didn't even look out of breath, reloading guns and cleaning blood and viscera off their fists and knives. This was their element, rapid assaults on unprepared hostile forces. They could take the smallest gap, the smallest sliver of opportunity, and blow it wide open. Dawn shivered as she jogged to catch up with them — she was damn glad that she was on their side and not the other way around.

" _Reading no additional hostile reinforcements,_ " Kenniston reported, just as Dawn arrived next to the group. The Spartans had arranged themselves in a loose defensive perimeter in the shadow of the glyph-inscribed dais which the Abyssals had seemed so eager to die for. Several of them were gazing up at the structure, which seemed no worse for the wear despite being hit by an Archer missile. It towered high above, at least ten meters tall, a solid cylinder without any tapering. A variety of cables ran out from it and into the deck, without any visible seams or attachment points where they entered the dais. Dawn couldn't tell what it was made of, and she shivered again as she looked at it. Even accounting for the dim lighting in the compartment, the thing seemed inordinately dark, as if it was sucking in light from its surroundings. It simply radiated a sense of foreboding, a feeling that nothing good could come of messing with it. " _Any injuries?_ "

" _Negative._ "

" _Green here._ "

" _Excellent work, people. Establish a perimeter. Five, overwatch. Seven, take a look at those symbols. Try to find out why the Abbies were so determined to defend them._ " Seven nodded and moved towards the dais, kneeling before one of the glowing symbols and tapping on her datapad. As the Spartans fanned out, Blanc turned to face Dawn. " _Nice job. Really helped us out back there._ "

"Really?" She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly bashful. "Oh, it was nothing. I'm just happy to be of help."

" _I don't think we could have done that without casualties without your fire support._ " His helmet tilted, as if he was seeing her from a different angle. " _Should've realized it sooner, but you're really a human-sized artillery platform, aren't you? The tactical implications…_ "

"Hey, I'm right here, you know?" Dawn crossed her arms and glared at the Spartan. "Don't talk about me like I'm just some sort of machine." Her glare was slightly diminished by the gore caking her boots, an unsubtle reminder to be careful about her tone of voice.

Luckily, Blanc didn't seem to be too offended. " _Apologies, I'll keep it in mind. Stand by for now._ " Turning around, he walked towards Seven, still working on her datapad. " _Seven, report. Initial assessment?_ "

Kalina spoke in place of the Spartan, the dumb AI's voice containing equal shades of curiosity and frustration. " _It's… odd. Temperature readings are consistent with ambient conditions, but the black-body radiation emission curve is extremely flattened, way lower than what it should be. It's practically endothermic, for lack of a better term, like its somehow sucking in rather than emitting radiation — which shouldn't be the case, if it wasn't clear._ "

Slightly curious, Dawn leaned in to get some readings on her own instruments. Indeed, the temperature was nothing special, but her radiation sensors were giving all sorts of weird readings. She switched over to Geiger counters for a spell, focusing them on the space directly around the dais, and frowned when they registered even less radiation than ambient space. Weird indeed, but she didn't have much time to think about it as Blanc responded, " _Is it a threat?_ "

" _We can't say definitively—"_

" _I have something._ " Seven suddenly spoke, cutting off Kalina and drawing everyone's attention. " _Some sort of data node. Seems to be a lot of traffic flowing through it._ "

" _Can you detect any safeguards?_ "

" _A few, but nothing that's actively countering my probes. Probably nothing that would kill us._ "

Blanc nodded. " _Tap the data. Everyone else, fall back six meters, prepare to move._ "

" _Copy_ _. Accessing now—_ "

A chill went through the collective spines of the boarding team. For Dawn, this manifested as a tingling that ran up and down her back, a highly uncomfortable sensation not unlike a spider running along her skin. She let out a shout and shuddered with violent revulsion, trying and failing to twist around so she could swat whatever manner of horrid, eight-legged creature had crawled up her shirt. Her imagination ran vivid with images of some hairy, cluster-eyed arachnid sinking venom filled fangs into the small of her back, draining her dry before she realized that it was highly unlikely there were any spiders aboard this alien ship.

The Spartans had it much worse. They practically turned into power-armored statues, going completely rigid and still as a sensation of pure dread seized them. As veterans of the battle at Reach, they had all experienced something like this before, when the Abyssal fleet first entered the system, but nowhere near this degree of intensity. It was like a heavy blanket had fallen over all of their senses, leaving them unable to focus on anything than an involuntarily growing feeling of panic inside themselves. Despite all of their training, conditioning, and years of live combat experience hardening them to trivial things like fear, this panic somehow bypassed all of that and wormed itself deep into their brains, expanding so that it was the only thing that filled their worlds. It whispered in their ears, rendering them unable to even scream. It took every ounce of their fire-forged discipline not to collapse on the spot, so much so that they barely even noticed when the dais emitted a low, bass rumble, accompanied by a long, high-pitched hiss of escaping gas.

Dawn did notice, however. She saw a pencil-thin streak of light trace a line from the top of the structure to its bottom, and also noticed with considerably more alarm the massive spike of radiation that accompanied it. "Watch out!" she shouted, before realizing that none of the Spartans could hear her. Her Geiger counters, previously dormant, spiked into a frenzy of clicking as the dais continued to split, with Seven was directly in front of the radiation source. The glyphs began to glow even brighter, accompanying steadying increasing energy readings which caused MJOLNIR shields to spark and fizzle, strong enough to guarantee cancer in anyone not wearing a full-body lead suit. At its current rate, it would grow strong enough to fry Seven even through her armor, but the Spartan just wasn't _moving!_ Only one thing to do, then. Dawn ran forwards, put her arms beneath the Spartan's, and began pulling, groaning with exertion as she tried to shift the super soldier's two-ton bulk to no avail.

"Come… on!" One more option. Dawn ran around to Seven's front, planted a foot in her chest, and activated thrusters at the same time that she kicked with all her might. The additional thrust,did the trick, tossing the Spartan back several meters just as her Geiger counters hit their maximums, deafening her as they screamed of imminent death by radiation. She could feel the skin on the back of her neck beginning to blister, despite the shielding that her equipment provided, and turned around to try to present her more armored front to the source, covering her eyes with her arms.

A small, hard object planted itself in her abdomen. Dawn felt all the air in her lungs exit in a quick and very violent fashion before she was thrown back, crashing into Seven who was still struggling to get off the deck. Dawn's head cracked against Seven's helmet as they both went down in a tangle of metal-encased limbs, sending stars shooting throughout her vision. Groaning again, this time in pain, she was vaguely aware of her Geiger counters calming back to normal levels, but she could hardly bring herself to care over the distinct sensation of someone taking a pickaxe to the rear of her skull.

"Well, well. Look who managed to make it all way down here." One thing, however, did cut through the pain. A voice, oozing so much contempt that Dawn could vividly picture the twisted sneer on whoever it belonged to. Woozy from pain, she briefly imagined a snake, venom dripping from its tongue, and decided that that was an appropriate metaphor. "I was under the impression that humans generally _called_ before barging into someone else's home. Hypocritical, yet unsurprising."

" _Don't move._ " Blanc's voice, slightly hoarse, rang out in response. The Spartans were evidently recovering from whatever had possessed them. Dawn could hear heavy footsteps as they moved into position — she was still trying to clear her vision and figure out whether or not she had a concussion. " _Identify yourself._ "

"You will be silent if you know what Is good for you." Her eyes beginning to clear, Dawn finally got a look at the owner of that supremely irritating voice. A tall, pale, humanoid figure, wearing some sort of thick, grey, form-fitting bodysuit. Armored boots sheathed its legs up to its thighs, orange veins of light running through the pitch-black metal. More armor encased its arms and a spiky plate protected its chest. Small metal shards floated and orbited around its waist and shoulders, suspended in midair. A helmet sat on its head, an eyepatch covering one eye while the other blazed with a frigid blue fire. With a cold feeling of dread, Dawn realized she'd seen something… someone very much like this not too long ago.

The Abyssal's visible eye focused on her. "Now, this _is_ a surprise, is it not? Forward Unto Dawn, yes?"

"H-how do you know my name?"

"From someone quite excited to see you… not that you will ever meet them." Heedless of the assortment of assault rifles, machine guns, and rocket launchers being pointed at it, the Abyssal spread its arms wide, the orange lights running along its limbs glowing brighter. "Now, you must be aware that you have been quite the bother. Stealing away a soul that we worked so hard to bind… why, that is just rude! Would you not agree?"

"A soul… you mean Amber?" Dawn clambered up to one knee, wincing at the residual pain in her head. Oh, that was definitely a concussion. A week of rest, no loud noises, bright lights, or vigorous physical activity, remain hydrated, but first get out of this alive. "I don't know what you bastards did to her, but you're going to _pay_ for it."

"Oh, I am _so_ scared." The Abyssal looked to the side, brow furrowing as it was just realizing the presence of the Spartans. "Get that thing out of my face, will you?" With a flick of its hand, an invisible force sent Blanc's assault rifle spinning out of his hands and shoved him back half a meter. He recovered quickly, pulling out his pistol, but was clearly shaken. The other Spartans backed up as well, redoubling their grips on their weapons. Dawn's gaze quickly flicked over to the HAVOK nukes on their backs, as yet unnoticed by the Abyssal. Those were the trump cards; if nothing else, they could light them off and blow this Abbie to hell. "I would love to see you try and make me."

"Why you—!"

"Enough of this." The Abyssal raised one hand into the air. Dawn's radiation counters spiked again as a series of portals opened around the boarding team, a full platoon of Abyssal soldiers stepping out of their inky, swirling depths. The Spartans immediately repositioned to face this new threat, surrounding them on all sides. Dawn got back on her feet and readied her own weapons, calling on her warship side to lend her strength. Her tiredness faded away as a burst of energy entered her limbs, but sweat still rolled down her forehead and her breathing remained quick and shallow. "I do commend you for making it this far, but that is far enough." The Abyssal brought its hand down and held it out in front of itself. With a flash of light and a sound like the world's largest drain being unclogged, a long polearm, a glaive really, appeared in its hand, head pulsing with energy. The alien twirled the two-handed weapon in one hand, something resembling the oversized lovechild of a needler and a plasma pistol appearing in its other, then pointed the blade at Dawn. "You may call me Light Cruiser Princess. For interfering with our plans, I sentence you to death."

Despite her growing sense of dread, Dawn managed to crack a cocky smirk. "You make that glowy, pointy stick yourself? Didn't realize you were a nerd _and_ an alien fuck."

"Hmph." The Abyssal's eye burned brighter, and the sound of cocking weapons came from all around as the Abyssal soldiers prepared to fire. "No more talk. You die. Now."

* * *

For Amber, time had long since lost most of its meaning. Who cared about hours and minutes when the struggle was simply to survive the next second? Her armor was blackened from near-miss missile detonations, dented from glancing coilgun rounds, and breached in several places when she had been forced to choose between dodging an energy projector or avoiding a salvo of particle beams. Her own missile stocks were near depletion, her point defense guns on their umpteenth reload cycle, fuel supplies down to five hours of combat maneuvers. Dried blood caked her abdomen, a series of particle beam penetrations which her damage control teams had sealed off and anesthetized, but not before she'd almost passed out from pain.

 _Have to keep going…_

Wiping a trail of blood from the corner of her mouth, Amber fired all her port maneuvering thrusters, firing her main propulsion at full reverse thrust at the same time, launching herself sideways and out of the way of yet another salvo of plasma beams. In retaliation, she swung her MAC around on her shoulder, capacitors already charged, and let loose a round at one of the battleships pursuing her. Recoil slammed her back as her sensors tracked the 600-ton shell out, out, out, all the way to its intercept with the offending alien ship. At this range, facing her comparatively low-velocity gun, even that clumsy ship could have dodged out of the way, but it instead opted to tank the shot on its shields. They barely flickered with the impact, and Amber had the distinct sense that it was mocking her. She gritted her teeth and quickly loaded another shot, scooting to the side again as incoming fire alerts sounded, narrowly avoiding a massive mass driver slug as she let off another round.

 _Can't let them down…_

At this point, there were only two things keeping her from blacking out from exhaustion: her fear of letting Dawn down, and a burning desire to prove Admiral Lasky wrong. The first was self-explanatory; as to the second, if ever Amber felt like giving up, all she had to do was to picture Lasky's skeptical expression and remember his accusing words, and a burst of strength and purpose would enter her. He doubted her loyalty, or her usefulness? She'd prove him wrong with her own two hands.

 _I can't die here._

Unfortunately, motivation could only carry her so far. Despite her best efforts at evasion, a shot clipped her main propulsion, sending a bolt of fire up her leg and disabling one of her primary thrusters. The suddenly uneven distribution of thrust sent her spinning off on a random vector, and by the time her damage control teams restored propulsion and Amber regained control, she found herself being targeted by the Abyssal dreadnought. Her sensors picked up a massive buildup of energy in its main weapons systems, and simultaneously detected a salvo of hundreds of missiles racing towards her. They were arranged to bracket her so that even if she dodged the dreadnought's shot, she was guaranteed to get hit by at least five missiles, enough to blow her to kingdom come. Her point defenses were insufficient to shoot them all down. With a sigh of resignation, she closed her eyes, tasked her PDCs to do the best they could, and braced for pain.

It was with some degree of confusion that, a few seconds later, she opened them again, sensors informing her that the missiles had all overshot and were headed off into deep space. Amber quickly patted herself down, confusion growing when she realized she hadn't been incinerated. Had the dreadnought not fired at her? She reached out with her instruments, casting her senses wide and far, and determined that yes, the energy buildup she'd detected was gone. Even stranger, the ship had stopped all movement, neither advancing towards Earth nor towards Amber, just sitting there, in space, motionless. Its escorts seemed just as confused, formation in a slight mess as they compensated for the sudden change in speed. "What is going on…?" she breathed, just as her tightbeam radio crackled to life.

" _Hey. Hey! Can you hear me?_ "

Amber waited a beat for she realized the stranger wasn't going to say 'over.' Despite her fatigue, the failure to follow protocol irked her, and she responded crossly, "This is In Amber Clad, I read you. _Over._ "

" _Oh my God, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. It's been… Jesus, years, since I last spoke to someone human!_ "

"Huh? Wait, who is this?" Amber discreetly ordered her signals officers to comb the transmission for malware. They returned after a few moments, having found no viruses, but instead something about the format of the message which made Amber do a double-take before scrambling to key her microphone again. "Your transmission protocols — why are they from 2552? I mean, mine are too, but that's not the point here. Identify yourself! Over."

" _Don't worry, don't worry, just let me be excited for a minute, hm~?_ " The ending lilt covered up a distinct, watery quaver, as if the speaker was suppressing tears. The line went quiet for a few seconds before the voice return, steadier than before. " _Alright, I managed to sneak into a comms channel while that bitch is distracted by more pressing matters, but we don't have much time. Listen and do exactly what I say._ "

"Do exactly as—hey! I don't trust you for a minute, you still haven't answered my question! Who are you, where are you transmitting from, and why should I believe a thing you say? And say over when you're done, over!" She was getting antsy. Though this was a much-appreciated break, those battleships wouldn't stay milling around forever. Eventually, they would remember her, and her struggle for survival would resume.

" _… that's fair. Right._ " The sound of a throat being cleared. " _Okay, it's a bit complicated, but basically this alien has hijacked my body for itself. I'm the equivalent of a split personality, but I still have some autonomy, and right now my uninvited guest is doing its level best to pound Dawn into a bloody paste. Bad for her, but good for me, because its mental guards are down and I can sneak a transmission out to you through its neural implants! That's where I'm transmitting from, inside its head. As for why you should trust me, well, I want my_ fucking _body back. And as for who I am, you can call me Pillar of Autumn_."

"Pillar of—?!"

" _But that's not important, hm~? Please, listen to me closely. I know how we can all make it out of this alive, but only if you do exactly as I say._ "


End file.
